Tag Archives: friendship

Steady On

I want to write not just when I’m wiped out and done with everything. I am so tired tonight and have several things weighing on me. I would actually *LOVE* a snow day tomorrow . . . I think this is one of the first times I have felt that way. I would love the permission to have a little extra space. Today’s client cancellation was kind, because it gave me time to take down Christmas decor in the studio. I would love to do the same here at home.

Will there be snow? The only way to find out is to go to bed.

These words and more spilled into my journal at the end of a long Monday. Most curious to me was my hope for a snow day. That was a first.

I woke the following morning to school cancellations and bare ground. Glad for a slow start to the day and for the ability to work from home, I made a scheduled 8:00 phone call and then fixed waffles.

By 10:00 snow was steadily falling, creating a winter wonderland. I braved the elements to visit a friend. By the time I returned, a blanket of white covered everything, including the ornaments hanging from the tree in the front yard, a new place for them this year.

Usually they hang on the porch from the plant hangers. This year I thought they would look fun in the tree of friendship. I was right! Several neighbors commented on how festive it looked as they walked past our house.

My children thought otherwise. One commented that they were going to find a light blue blanket to wrap around the base of the tree next year. Another thought it was something only a Baab would do or like. Both correct.

Today I took them down. The same week that brought snow and two and a half days off of school for my kids brought seventy degree weather and sunshine for the weekend. Hauling the storage box from the basement, I walked to the front yard and removed the colorful orbs.

The tree now stands empty, unlike my planner for the upcoming week. 2020 has burst onto the scene with no sign of slowing. As I ponder how to remain steady throughout, I realize it takes living moment by moment. That is what I practice as I sit here writing.

I cannot plan for snow days or predict when a child will need me. I cannot know when a client will cancel or forget an appointment, or when I will get an unexpected, much-welcomed last-minute appointment call. I can only do the things in front of me and wait for what surprises may come.

Steady on, Friends! Enjoy your week, surprises and all.

Watched Cats

Watched cats don’t eat.

I am not a Black Friday shopper. As much as I like the theory, its practice evades me. The idea of rising in predawn hours to score a $4.99 appliance that I may or may not need does not offer a thrill.

I am a Black Friday friend, though. When asked if I could do the early morning feeding for her cats Thanksgiving weekend, I obliged. That is what found me driving past the mall with Black Friday shoppers lining up in the dark. I now sit, pre-dawn, in a silent house, listening to the lapping of water and crunching of food in various locations.

My ears are especially trained on the upstairs hallway while I wait and hope for sound. I want the ghost cat to emerge for his food today. He is what prevents me from dumping the food, collecting the bowls, and getting the job done quickly.

I wait.

Come out, come out wherever you are.

The thumping of paws alerts me to locations and activities of the other two. The elusive ghost cat remains hidden. I trust my perch halfway up the stairs to keep me from view while allowing me to glimpse the identity of the cat when it arrives at his bowl. I want to confirm existence.

Nothing. Not even a lump under the covers or a glow of eyes under the beds, as before. He is a stealthy one, that cat.

The others patter around, testing me by stopping at the full food bowl in the upstairs hall. I see them and chide them to move along. They have had their turn to eat.

I allow a reasonable amount of time, per friend’s instructions, of course. Past performance says that if the ghost has not emerged by now, he is not coming out this time. I text her the state of affairs. She replies with All sounds good.

Preparing to leave, I refresh water bowls, giving one last look around for the mystery cat. He does not want to show himself this morning. I close the door and lock it behind me.

Day breaks as I return to my car and begin the drive home.

Though tempted to disappear into the radio’s noise, I ride home in silence. Driving past the mall, I notice that shoppers have entered the stores. Instead of turning into the parking lot to join them, I slide back into my warm bed for a few more hours of sleep.