Little Blue Egg

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Life it seems, is a constant rush. Do more, but faster. And despite our endless means of preparing, planning and scheduling, there never seems to be enough time. If you look the word rush up in the dictionary it not only speaks to fast movement but it also refers to brutality. Rush: to perform, accomplish, or finish with speed, impetuosity, or violence. I never thought of rushing as an act of violence. But when you really think about it, you see the connection. You’re running late, you rush out the door, you hit traffic and voilà… violence ensues. You are immediately cast in a Quentin Tarantino movie, blaring four letter words even Wikipedia won’t list. Eventually traffic resumes a normal pace and you resume rushing… red faced and depleted.

When did our “to do list” become more like a dissertation and 24/7 refer to what needs to be done, in how many hours? We are not only rushed for time, we are losing it by the minute. We hang “Life is Short” quotes on old barn wood in our houses but it is just a motion, not a motivation. And that list… we keep a back up on a cloud, a constant floating reminder of how much we have left to do. Yay us!

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Where is the “slow down” app? That button that allows us to behave leisurely without being lazy. It often seems when we do manage to somehow slow our pace, we do not move at all. It is more of an abrupt halt than a pause. Most likely the result of exhaustion, so even then we do not get to smell the roses. Of course as it turns out, in our haste, we forgot to plant them. Sigh.

It could just be a matter of packing. We can not decelerate when we have such a heavy load. We carry all our luggage around when sometimes just a simple over night bag will do. Maybe it’s time rearrange our path. Lighten our load. Slow our pace. Find our passion and plant the dang flowers…. Hey, then we can check that off our list!

Winter is such a lethargic season. It is much like pregnancy. It moves ever so slowly, delivering shades of brown. Raw Umber, Chestnut, Khaki… a palette that sounds so warm and inviting. As soon as it is announced, you start preparing with anxious anticipation. You buy new clothing that will see you through the months, you start eating for two, you begin nesting, your body temperature tries desperately to regulate and often nights you can’t find sleep. Before its over, you become bloated, achy and are in a constant battle with your moods.

Yes, there are days where winter offers such beauty, you forget how dreary it can be. Snow filled days that cover the earth in ivory and pearl. Ice that shimmers and sparkles in every crevice. Days that allow you to turn your home into a lair and hibernate by the fire with a good book. However, these days are scantly spread through out the season and by the end of the the 1st trimester, better known as February, you are so ready for birth. You look for hints every day. Little signs that let you know the wait will soon be over. Of course before “true spring” begins, you must go through “false spring”. The Braxton Hicks of winters final weeks.

Oh false spring….so short and sweet. Those 3 maybe 4 days where the sky is suddenly and without warning so clear and blue it has you running out the door in your short sleeve top, camera in hand. The temperature hoovers between almost perfect and perfect and the birds stream songs from dawn to dusk. Lady bugs perilously venture out and daydreaming butterfly’s are seen searching for anything that resembles a bud. Ah yes, false indeed. There is no need to worry though… no need for medical treatment of any kind… trust me. They will just send you home… home to wait, until its time.