I haven't had much chance to blog. I think that is just the way this summer is going. It's not specifically that I haven't had time. It's that I'm not the owner of my brain. Or my computer.
Yesterday I read a blog at http://www.blogher.com/being-needed. It's called "they think they need me but I need them more." It is very sweet, about how someday our kids will be gone and life will be quiet etc. etc. I don't know. Right now I think I need some space.
Usually I think about things during the day, then when I sit down to write them it goes pretty fast. Not so right now. Four people in the house 24/7. Three meals. . . Alice couldn't keep up keeping house after this gang. Like I said, I'm not the owner of my brain. My brain is loaned out to the history of airlines and subways and proof reading cover letter applications for new companies and looking for tiny little lost items.
We had awesome masterclasses yesterday afternoon with Reiko Imrie. The concerto kids each got 30 minutes to work on their movement with her. As always, she had great ideas and I took copious notes. I can't wait to help the kids work through these ideas. The concerto thing is bran new to me, and I'm thankful for the insight of so many wonderful colleagues. Four hours of focused music and learning.
Then she left and like always, reality set back in. Weeds. Dry plants. Dinner. Laundry. Bunny poop. Groceries. Cat litter. The fountain is clogged. Myriad tasks under a backdrop of conversation that always circles back to Calvin's obsession with airline mergers and their safety ratings. . . and the history of Microsoft versus Apple operating systems. MENTAL FRAGMENTATION!!!!!
My mom sent me a link to yesterday's Lutheran God Pause devotion. They stole my line, about securing your own oxygen mask before helping others. . . not cool. (Joke) Where is my oxygen mask right now? The kids are home for summer. Bill is here in the house doing his job search everyday. They need me. It's more than just the three meals.
I think the oxygen mask has to be--me letting go of any expectation of perfection, control or routine. Company is coming to celebrate Calvin's birthday tomorrow and there's going to be weeds. The fountain will still be clogged. There might be cat throw-up in the hall. The illusion that I am the man behind the curtain keeping it all together will be broken. To be honest, it's only ME that wants it all to be perfect, not anyone else. Relinquish. It can't all be done.
Can we be of any value with spokes going in so many directions?
Next week is the MacPhail Suzuki Institute. I'm teaching and Calvin and Mary are both going. I can't wait, but I'm going to need help. Cassy is going to shadow Mary, and Bill will go with Calvin. Mary Lynn will have to pick up the slack with plants, bunny, cats and laundry. It is a valuable spoke.
Sometimes when I'm feeling overwhelmed, Bill and I sit on the sofa and ask, what would you let go? Nothing. I wouldn't let go of anything. The kids. The house. Family. Teaching. The garden. So, the only thing I can let go of is the notion that it can all be perfect at one time. The spokes will never be completely even. The wheel will limp along sometimes. My hope is that we will still reach our destination.
Bill will get a job. The kids will go back to school. I'll get my brain back. That new mug will hold enough coffee to get me to September. Until then, I'll try to breath it all in and let it all go. Let go the illusion. Draw back the curtain and shake hands with Dorothy. And the Tin Man. And the scarecrow. Clean up after Toto. The air is a little thinner, the wheel is a little bumpy, but there's no place like home.
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