Years ago, I learned the importance of “Time-Out”.
It’s a time when everything feels, looks and sounds just a little off key. It means standing back, surveying life and taking another run at it. It means catching life out of the corner of the eye. Hard cold stares scare goodness away.
Time-Outs mean change. Change brings newness and refreshment.
Here’s the stuff that wanted to mess with my life:
- The kitchen faucet needed to be replaced.
- After months of a multi-action Cuisinart ride, my car needed four new tires.
- The stock market was moving in the wrong direction to fund dental work.
- The power head on my vacuum was declared irreparable.
- Carpenter ants assumed they could move in.
- Plugged eaves provided outdoor showers.
- My house painter finished university and disappeared.
- My writing block transformed into an iceberg.
- A trip to my friend’s cabin in the wilds could not happen.
Suddenly I began dropping everything I touched. After a day of dropsy, I called a Time-Out before I broke something. Of all that was breakable, my soul was the most delicate.
I said, “Okay, Beloved Guides! Where’s my Soul Mate?” and kicked my new tires. Surely a man would be the answer to all my problems.
I jumped into the shower. With the steam rising, generously covering the enclosure, I wrote, “Please send me my soul mate today.” I added verbally, “One who knows about all this damned domestic stuff.”
On Thursday, after a shift at the theater, I drove into the carport. Duc Le Chat sat on the roof of his cat house staring vigilantly over the property. I jumped out to coif a furry cuddle. Unlike his usual response, Duc jumped off his house and headed for the bush.
Something smelled for him, too. As I watched him, Duc’s demeanor reminded me to detach. I was immersed in problems.
Freedom Friday arrived! After weather and bodily demands tried to bump our schedule, Susan and I headed out for a long walk.
She reminded me of a quote about living life forward and understanding it backwards. Instead of trying to figure out what was going on, I’d live today. It would all be clear later. I would stay in my heart instead of fighting with the intellect.
Once home from our walk, a friend arrived and installed the new faucet. Overwhelming appreciation wrung the negativity from my heart. Another inner shift had begun.
Suddenly the new tires on my car changed from a dollar sign to a promise that I could host “Le tour du Mans” on my island this winter. K., who had been insulating and staining last weekend, delivered a ladder that allowed me to safely clean the debris from my eaves.
On Saturday, though the Time Out continued, I visited the myriad of subscribed blogs. Does commenting count as writing? Is that considered blogging?
In the afternoon, it was time for some exercise. I asked my Guides for inspiration, grabbed my camera and headed for the Canadian Maple Tree that I hug daily.
The hot afternoon sun massaged my overly winterized skin. A canopy of new leaves presented an honour guard over my route. The narrow, paved road, home to my tree, was a palette of arboreal shadow and form. Various flora presented a gamut of scents from floral sweetness to rainforest musk.
Looking at its leaves, I wondered how is it that this tree, and only this tree, produces these unique leaves. Mother Nature.
As you will see in the last photo, my hand does not even cover one third of a fully mature leaf.
Sunday, after a 6 km hike with a dear friend and a hearty dinner that included brainy conversation and laughter with three other friends, life passed by the corner of my eye. I said a prayer of thanks for the abundance in my life.
Today, Monday, Canada Post presented me with two letters. Both contain news of money I will be receiving that I had not anticipated.
The pest control man just sprayed the perimeter of my house imprisoning Duc and me for a couple of hours. The same little creature who almost turns feral in the summer came in without a fuss and curled up in his favourite chair with an air unquestioned trust.
The Economics graduate emailed that he’ll be here tomorrow morning. We’ll see if we can control the weather so he can paint my house this week.
I would not dream of asking the Guides to take control of the Stock Market. However, I am rich. Somehow I’ll visit the dentist so he can drive one of his four cars to the clinic.
The other attachments on the vacuum work just fine for now. If my back caves in, the Chiropractor’s office is kitty-corner from me.
My friend with the cabin assures me there will be more peaceful times for us to visit the wilds together. This time, there is a memorial gathering for her mother who passed last Fall. Her mom will know I’m thinking about her along with everyone else.
The writing iceberg? Well, we’ll see. My Time Out is still in effect.