What I Found in My Garden

This morning, I discover an unusual sight in my raspberry bushes:  the bumblebees appear to be sleeping.  They attach their fuzzy legs to the berries and just relax. 

I  can't believe it!  Normally, I  won't even get near the berries because of the frenzy of bumblebee activity.  They never stop moving as they dart in and out of the flowers.   
 

Sleeping Bumblebee

But it actually looks like this bee rests her little head upon the flower. I call my entomologist friend, and she confirms that bees do rest. They also take a break if they need to warm up their wings against the chill of the morning dew. 

I come inside, sip my coffee and think about doing nothing at all for the morning.   I remember that even the bumblebees rest. I relax and tell the family I'm warming up my wings for the day. 

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Journal:  How will you rest today? 

Waking Up with a Sore Throat

This morning, I realize immediately that I have a sore throat. 

I know what this means:  I'm getting sick (or maybe it's an allergy or just the dry air in my home or the fact that there's snow on the ground one day and daffodils blooming the next).  Whatever the cause, that irritating sore throat signals something.  It's a constant, annoying reminder to slow down, drink fluids, rest, and get better. 

I can't ignore the feeling of it.  With every swallow and every word I speak, I experience that whisper of raw pain telling me:  slow down; get better.  When I want to push through and scurry about to clean this house, the throat says: slow down; get better.  When I want to schedule a million things for the family, that throat responds: slow down; get better.

So Saturday cleaning day isn't happening.  Living with flair means you respond when something or Someone tells you to slow down and get better.   I just wish I didn't have to wait until something painful happens to realize the benefit of slowing down.   

Cat vomit, bad parking, and sore throats can teach me something about living rightly, and so far, Year Two of Live with Flair challenges me to learn from whatever negative, inconvenient, or painful thing comes my way. 
 
Thank you for inspiring me to live this way.  


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What in my life is telling me to slow down? 

Take a Minute

I'm officially overloaded with work obligations and writing tasks.  As I sit at my computer, I become annoyed by my cat, Louie Von Whiskers, who knows the exact moment when I start to type on my keyboard.

This crazy cat believes that my computer work signals his need to nap across the keyboard.  I push him down onto the carpet, and he jumps right back on top of the computer--audacious, insistent, and. . . adorable.

"OK, you kitty," I say.  I take him in my arms, and he immediately curls up into a soft ball.  Purring loudly, he stays put, and when I try to lean over to type, he actually puts a paw on my arm to restrain me.  So I'm stuck here, holding this ball of fur. 

I do have one hand free.  Can I type with this one hand?  Not really.  But I can reach for my hot cup of tea that I'd forgotten I'd made. 

Here I sit, cup of tea in one hand, purring cat on my lap.  I think God gave me this cat to make me take a minute--a non-productive minute--to do nothing at all. 

I find myself so refreshed that I have to wonder what other non-productive minutes I might take today.  More tea?  More snuggling with animals?  What if I listened to a new song or gazed out the back window?

It can't all be work in 2011.  Imagine a cat sleeps on your lap and you can't move at all.  You have no choice but to lean back, drink your tea, and enjoy yourself for a minute. 

Your 30 Minutes of Free Time

I ask my students what they would do if I gave them 30 minutes of free time.  What if I let class out early?  How would they spend their time if I gave them recess?

With unexpected minutes given them, they'd drink more coffee.  They'd study more for the exam at 10:00 AM. They'd prepare more for a presentation. 

A recess refers to a period of time when a person or group is temporarily dismissed from duties.  In schools, teachers mandate recess.  Children go outside to play, and they do not feel guilty about missing work or losing precious minutes of productivity.

Other cultures regularly foster guilt-free recess moments in the form of a siesta or tea time.

I'm thinking of instituting siesta, high tea, or recess as part of my day because in the absence of a mandated time, I fear American culture resists free time.   

Stop everything.  Go outside.  Relax and just enjoy something.  For 30 minutes--without my phone or computer--I have to go play.  I might rest on my bed.  I might sip a cup of tea.  I could even kick a ball around in my driveway.

Once I asked a woman to share with me her top 5 ways to relax and rejuvenate.  She couldn't think of one.

Recently, my children forged a trail through a forest so vibrant with autumn colors it seemed the heavens spilled paint down.  I walked with my husband and a neighbor as the sun set through the pine trees with that unmistakable golden light. 

The world moved on around us--the hustle and bustle--but out here in the woods, we had recess.  Maybe tomorrow we'll have afternoon tea.  Maybe Sunday we'll take a Sabbath siesta in a homemade fort.  Whatever form it takes, I'm ringing the bell to release us out to the playground.

30 minutes of free time built into our day--like a class we have to attend--sounds like rejuvenation:  restoring vitality, making us fresh again.

The Not To-Do List

Instead of a to-do list, a friend of mine suggests a not to-do list.  I'm at a conference all day teaching about writing personal mission statements, and I present the idea of a not to-do list, as in "what I am not going to do today in order to do what's best and more aligned with my life purpose."  People who aren't taking notes suddenly start writing. 

It's revolutionary for me:   I will write a list of all the things I will not do today.  I will make some space somewhere.

Two different people ask me how I handle the guilt I feel about that.  "Won't I feel so guilty?  Won't I disappoint so many people?"

Yes, you will.  You will disappoint people your whole life.  And those people need to be disappointed every once in a while because you can't meet all their needs.  You weren't designed to.

And the whole world will not fall apart if you say "no."  

As I leave the conference, I'm so tired that I literally cannot speak.  I need to rest.  So I walk in the door, and I make my mental not to-do list.  I will not do a load of laundry.  I will not grade one single paper.  I will not call this person back. 

I collapse with my daughters in their bed.  I start reading aloud from the Children's Story Bible by Catherine Vos.  It's taken us several weeks to get through the book of Genesis, and now, we are nearly finished with Exodus.  As I read the 10 Commandments, my oldest daughter asks me why our family isn't resting more on the Sabbath.  She lays her head back on the pillow and wonders:  "Does God mean no raking leaves?  No homework?  No dishes?  What does Sabbath mean?"

Right now, it means having a not to-do list so I make space for the best thing.   

Sound the Alarm!

Apparently, word spread that I wasn't in church yesterday.

"What did you tell people?" I asked my husband.  I was in bed, still in my pajamas, destined for the flu.   

"That you were tired, really stressed-out, and probably getting sick," he said.  Meanwhile, he collected the children to take them to an afternoon movie so I could sleep in a quiet house.

Then, my oldest approached me with her fist holding a crumpled up dollar bill.

"What's this?"  I asked her.

"It's my tooth fairy money from my piggy bank," she said, very seriously as she put it slowly beside me.  "I want you to have it in case you need to go to Starbucks later."  

I had husband love, daughter love, and then, and then, some completely unexpected neighbor love.

At 5:30, neighbors came over with dinner.  This amazing family brought me teriyaki pork tenderloin, fruit salad, green beans, rolls, potatoes, and ice cream for dessert.  I hadn't been in the hospital or anything.  I didn't even have a fever. They just heard I was tired and maybe getting sick.   

Then, this morning, another neighbor handed me a pack of those mocha frappuccino drinks to sustain me while working today.

"How did she know I love those?"  I asked my husband.

"It was either that or a bag of beef jerky.  You're sort of easy to please."  

It isn't like I'm on my death bed.  I was just really, really tired from a long semester.  I sounded the alarm on Sunday morning, and the family and neighbors mobilized immediately.  I know what happens when a mom takes a day off.  All of a sudden, the whole operation jams up.   There's a clog in the wheel; everything overflows.  She feels guilty and lazy because, after all, she's still breathing and can therefore empty the dishwasher. 

But I had to do it.   Living with flair means sounding the alarm if I have to. It means receiving from a community.  I want to be strong enough to stay in bed and strong enough to accept help.  And today, because I know what it feels like to be loved with a meal, coffee, and a quiet house, I know just what to do if I hear that somebody else is tired and stressed out.

My neighbors have flair.  Bringing unexpected dinner and iced mocha frappuccino drinks to a tired woman is a beautiful, and so appreciated, form of flair. Community flair--that's what helped me get out of bed today.