Man, it's hard to concentrate today.
I'm sending emails to clients because picking up the phone just requires too much energy. It's not that I'm even that tired; we got home from Florida early, and I actually slept better last night, in my own bed, than in about 3 weeks' time. Slept like the dead, is the phrase that comes to mind if you'll pardon the very inappropriate pun -- I'm appalled by it, myself, but you can't control these things. The mind plays tricks. It's just that
I don' wanna feeling. I'm trying to make lists and focus. But it's hard to snap right back into position and have the desire to take up like normal.
I feel like I ought to post something touching and reflective about my Grandmother. What comes to mind is only this:
I must change my attitude about unloading dishes.
My standard answer to the question,
"What is your least favorite household chore?" has always been
"...unloading dishes." I've always hated opening the dishwasher after dinner only to realize... they're all clean. Damn, it makes me say. But my first and best memories of Grandmother are undoubtedly dishes-related. Our guest room was very near the kitchen, and when she got up early -- 6:00 am? -- to begin her cooking-intensive day (what with 10 additional mouths to feed, it being a holiday or summer and all of there to visit) she'd first unload the dishes. That sound -- the "clinking," inevitable even though I know she was doing it ever-so-gently to keep quiet -- was my alarm clock on many a childhood morning. I'd pad in by myself, and sit on her lap. We'd have a little love and say good morning for a while. I'm sure some of the other kids joined us on many occasions, but in my memory, it's just us. Just us.
Of course I had put in dishes to wash before we left last Wednesday, so when we got home last night, they were all clean. That's what reminded me.
DH and I are so, so lucky to have had our grandparents in our lives
into our thirties. We do realize that. 95 is an amazing life. Heck, 80 is an amazing life. This is another thought that has been in my mind -- it's a little bit irreverent, but again, I can't help what my brain concocts: If you live so that you've got 6 people to carry your box when you die, you've lived pretty well. I don't know why I keep thinking that. Maybe it's just the simplicity of it. DH's Grandad got me thinking that way. He lived such a simple life. Worked hard, saved his money. But there was nothing flashy about him. He was charming, kind. Honored God. Loved his family.
And God saw that it was good. and evening came and morning followed... easy, gentle, simple.
Forgive me and this melancholy. I really feel fine. Relieved, actually, in a lot of ways. We smiled and laughed a lot this week. I want to write something, but I'm not sure what.