When I read my past postings, it makes me realize how much more in tune with my life I am when I write. More mindful of what I do. More observant of what I see. I believe I see or at least acknowledge more beauty around me. But writing takes time and somehow I let time get away. I'm writing today because I want to start the habit again. Tom is en route to Scotland for a guys bucket trip. Seven days of golf in a nine day trip. I have ten days to look at my habits without any consideration whatsoever to someone else's habits, needs, or schedule. I'll see what happens.
I encouraged Tom to keep a journal of his trip. What he eats, things he sees, experiences, etc., so he can (1) remember everything, and (2) tell me all about it. I told him I'd keep a journal of what I do. Mine will be considerably different than his.
So far, here's what today looks like. When I got home from taking Tom to the airport, I trimmed the abelia shrubs in the back beds and the remaining side of the hedge. I didn't clean them up. I hate cleaning them up. I love to trip. I decided I would let Ralph do the cleanup when he puts down the final stack of mulch. I also trimmed a few things in the front, but I did clean that up sine it's in the front of the house and on the sidewalk. I came inside and finished a square on my art page of 2x2 squares.
I feel a little at loose ends. Like there are too many things to do. Where to start. Can I really learn to relax?
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