We’re slipping into school routines like a squeaky new pair of sneakers (Maybe dragging our undone laces behind a little bit.) I had definitely become accustomed to the quieter Thursdays over summer break and the languid hot days with long stretches of quiet between customers at the end of July. With everyone back in town, the energy shifts right back into a higher gear. The barrage of multi-colored papers from the school flap around the house like busy butterflies.
Keeping the engine of the home running and the lists checked off, is a job enough to itself. Are these toothbrushes worn out? Are our socks too thin? Is there life left in these binders and folders? Is there enough shampoo and conditioner at the same time? Is there enough peanut butter and jelly at the same time? It’s enough to think about that I slide into a fugue state and fantasize at a stop light about laying down in a shallow river on the smoothed stones, letting the currents rush over me until the modern world fizzles out of mind.
This weekend I did just that, zoning out with my ass nestled in a riverbed pothole, those circular depressions formed by swirling water creating smooth eroded spots in the riverbanks. Red tailed hawks flapped and soared in circles over the outskirts of Waterford. My sons made a game of letting the current pull their bodies downstream laughing, pulling themselves out by a rope affixed to a tree, and running back up to me along the rocky trail. When they tired of this game, they built a dam lugging heavy rocks and stacking them to make a pool. They forged upstream to a fallen oak, climbing it and jumping off over and over again. This work was important and vital. It required focus, energy, and two pieces of sourdough slapped together with mustard, turkey, swiss, and a fistful of arugula. I was content to sit in my little pothole, eat sardines out of a tin, and talk to my accomplices in motherhood about literature and kids and food and nothing/anything. My girlfriend settled in to read a book, my friend splashed in the water with little ones. I watched the wildlife. Birds, tadpoles, teenagers with vapes and bluetooth speakers playing reggaeton, a dude with a guitar, people flinging their bodies into the river from ropes, a handful of baptisms on metal folding chairs, and the smokey aromas wafting from charcoal grills covered in enough carne asada to feed a small village.
I can’t help you with the to-do lists we are mired in, except to say that good bread comes in handy, and at the restaurant depot/chef’s store where I buy eggs and butter and chocolate chips in large volumes, you can also get 5 pound containers of peanut butter and raspberry jam. At first, these giant drums seems an insane quantity, but I was willing to bet it would all be eaten, and I tell you it was.
If all else fails, I hope you run away for an afternoon and get thee to a trail, a river, or some unstructured unscheduled place if you can. It’s free, it’s close, it’s necessary. If all else fails, a book of poetry usually staves off some of the worst effects of over-busyness. A poem in the car, a poem before bed, a poem with coffee, a poem hiding in the bathroom. If you need help finding your poem or river, we can talk about it any given Thursday…