Long Time

 Watching a pileated woodpecker hunt for ants. Quietly and long, we watched.

June 2, 2017

9 A.M.
Words cannot express how much easier life is now that I don't have to pack school lunches or wake up a sleepy, crabby kid.

9 P.M.
I hear sounds of laughter. Jared and Beren playing with a football we rescued from the Delaware River after recent floods. Last I observed they were putting it on the clothesline, pulling the line back and launching the clumsy football. And, laughing in the coming darkness.


When Jared and I were wrestling with Beren's school situation, I talked with a friend who had homeschooled her three children. "You have so much more time," she said over the phone. She lingered over the word time, emphasizing it. Time.


We have nothing to do but earn our living and feed or bellies and hearts. Now, we (the members of this household) are each the masters of our own destinies, as much as one can be in a web of life with others who need us. I go to bed when I'm tired, mostly. Wake when I'm rested, mostly. And, eat when I'm hungry, mostly. The clock is no longer my boss.


Jared will tell you that I don't do well with time or timing. He once said that I was not colonized by the western clock in many ways. "And that's good," he said. Except when it frustrates the hell out of him, and reasonably so.  

"Leaving on time" sends me into a spin. Planning in time-based reality is not easy for me. I guess that's why the "watch your baby, not the clock" feeding approach worked for me.

Earlier this week, I had two actions to accomplish in one day: pick up the truck at the dealership and take Beren to the Crayola Factory (sorry, can't call it the Crayola Experience, just like I can't call a sale at a store an "event"). Simple, I suppose, and yet, my mind was overwhelmed.

As I pondered my options, Jared was packing to head out for consulting work. As he bustled around the kitchen, I said apologetically, "I know this is not really your problem, but can you help me figure out how to arrange my day?"

In fairness, I did have to schedule a shuttle and bring a six year old along during the lunch slot. And then, we be arriving at Crayola long after lunch with two hungry bellies but my six year old wanted to explore before eating, which resulted in only a minor meltdown remedied by the water feature (a replica of a canal in which the kids can float boats) and then lunch.

All in all, not bad, actually quite good. Maybe I should write things down. It doesn't sounds so bad at all.


Jared listened to an interview with a man who spent time with a San bushmen. Here's my paraphrase of Jared's paraphrase: the man, Jon, was speaking with a San man. Jon glanced at his watch, and the San man said, "We don't like those things." Jon asked why that was. "Every time one of you looks at one of those things, the next thing you say is rude."