Wednesday, July 27, 2022
Today is the last Wednesday of July, the very last of this year’s July. Seems sudden yet lovely, as if the world is constantly turning, never stopping, but spinning further and further into time.
Oh wait, the world is doing exactly that!
One of my most marvelous gifts is the recent ability to sleep a full nights worth of sleep. Not that I couldn’t do it, but I had just organized my life (or disorganized it) so that I never allowed a proper six to eight hours of rest.
Bad mistake. Second bad mistake is inadequate hydration. Seriously. I know, I know the drill. “Steph, how many articles must you read to convince yourself you need water?” Obviously I did not learn that lesson until I could not figure out why I got strangely tired during the day. My initial self-diagnosis was COVID. After a series of tests and days of tracking my intake, I discovered a simple reason.
Hydration. Cannot say it enough. Hydration times two with the coffee I so dearly love.
Today I woke up happily with writing in my head. Yes, the world spins with war, some rather low level politics, and horrific looming climate changes. The impacts of those environmental factors upon each of our lives presses a soul, heavies a heart and whips confusion into ones mind. But I could not help but to write.
In the midst of the troublesome world and a whole negative list of my own, at fifty-seven I am romanticizing my own corner of the world. As I awaken, I realize I have created a storybook life. Throughout all the ups and downs, here was my life.
(Even though I had fallen fast asleep on the couch with my pooch Wally at my feet and my kitty Poesie perched upon the sofa backrest, I had awaken to purrs, warmth and a hint of the sun shining).
I had not thought of my life like that. Most people might not think of life or my life as such nor even desire such a lifestyle. Or everyone’s idea of a romantic storybook might look vastly different.
Of all that judgement, I might indeed be clueless. Or perhaps not?
Three to One
The Brewers were tied with the Twins, six to six, in maybe the eighth inning. It’s the last thing I remember as I must have snuggled into the couch with a favorite woolen blanket and windows opened for softly blowing, fresh westerly evening winds.
The same blankets wrap me outside this morning as I write. Those same soft winds which had lullabied me asleep now warmed me with the mid-morning sunshine which had risen above the tree tops. A hummingbird hovers oddly close, under the canopy, around my chair. He lively buzzes. Chipmunks and songbirds chirp as they dart back and forth to the feeders.
Green envelopes my little home in the woods.
As wonderfully as I slept is as noticeable as the odd position which my back muscles had held throughout the night. I felt hyperextended into a bow shape. I thought about the recent rule of health of which I had become aware. Three to One. My body recovers from misuse three to one.
Have a big piece of cake? My body returns to pre-cake level three days later. Don’t stretch like I should? Three days to rework muscles. My fairy tale reality takes a bit more recovery than in the days of my twenties. These morning winds seemingly stir up those memories. Years ago I had cringed at the recollection of awkward twenty-something ‘activities’ but they have become part of my cobblestone path of memories.
In my college days, I studied, worked and socialized with equal effort and intensity, often blurring a schedule of days with little or no rest. My mischievous ways spread my life into paths I had no business being. I forced my essence into finding love, approval and a statement of my own independent being.
Oh my, did I get into trouble! But the trouble I brought upon myself was not so much external – although there was a bit of that too – but the real damage tore at my own inner self. Sure, I was looking for answers but I could not have gone about finding those answers in a worse fashion. “Three to one” rule! A decade took three more to figure out.
Or at least I hope!
Back to the Tale.
Oh there are millions of mistakes in my tale. And if a picture speaks a thousand words, then those blips multiply even further! But I look around me. I cannot help but see the story, the romantic tale which has unfolded.
I am finally, with decisiveness in hand, creating my storybook life. No matter what life throws at you, I hope the same for you. Live the life according to your given story. Rock your realties! Roadblocks and tragedies may happen.
But when there is a glimmer of hope, grab it. Grab it and hold on. Make peace. Make love. Then do it all again!
Mm. Hm.
Lots of love to you,
Stephanie
Stephanie Springborn 