A LONGING TO DRIFT

I had been awake about ten minutes this morning, still laying quietly and appreciating the blue sky view and sunshine streaming in our bedroom window when Hub rolled over, sleepy-eyed, and asked what my plans were for the day....

Plans?  At that moment, still in a dawn daze, it was as if he was speaking a language I didn't understand, but of course I knew immediately what he wanted to know.  What will our day look like, together or apart?  Busy or lazy?  Productive or sort of wasted?  He is a championship planner and after nearly 43 years of marriage, so am I.

But my preferred mode of transport through the day is a slow meander -- I call it drifting.  Unless I have something scheduled (which is a lot of the time, to my dismay, but much less frequently that I used to) I love just seeing what my mind and spirit have in store for me as long hours of a new day stretch before me.  There is a lot of this when Hub is away, but when he's home I feel some obligation to be more intentional with my time.  And as in any relationship there is the dance of negotiation and accommodation to another's rhythms.

As usual, I got up, dressed, headed downstairs for my first cup of coffee and a peek at email, online news, and Facebook.  It's my morning routine for waking up to the world.  Then I puttered 'round the kitchen, found an article I wanted from an old newspaper, did a few dishes.  I went to the laundry room and sorted clothes, threw a load in the washer.  Back in the kitchen I wondered what I might make for Family Dinner this week and put that thought on hold since I hate meal planning and cooking....."Later..."

My eyes fell on a new book of poetry by Billy Collins and I grabbed it off the desk and walked to the living room.  Looking out our big window I stood for several long minutes just taking in the view -- fog settled lazily over the river valley, mountains to the east and north peeking up through the mist, sun shining on the bay, a new ship in port stacked high with bright orange containers ready to offload onto rail cars.

My gaze drifting to the birds at my front yard feeders made me smile with the recollection of yesterday morning when Angel and I sat for at least 30 minutes in front of the window, Birds of the Northwest book in front of us (she calls it the Hummingbird Book), identifying as many feeder birds as we could.  She was so excited to find a bird in the book that matched one at the feeder -- Pine Siskens, House Wrens, Junco's, Spotted Towhees and, yes, Hummingbirds.   It was a moment in time that I will always treasure -- spontaneous and timeless.

Finally I opened Collins and settled in on the sofa, randomly flipping through the book to  delight in poem after poem, marveling at his skill with language and imagery.   I scolded myself for spending so much time on tasks and responsibilities and commitments and so relatively little on pursuing and honing creative pursuits.

But the attic needs to be cleaned and organized so I can finally put away the bins of Christmas decorations.  And the yard is a mess of twigs, dead leaves, and growing weeds as it comes awake after winter's wet gloom.  The floors need vacuuming, the toilets need scrubbing, and the ongoing tasks of the church Stewardship Steering Committee need to be prioritized every day for the next month or so.

With these thoughts pushing to the 'fore I got up, closed the poetry book and came to my office to write this post as a transition from my morning drift to the day's steady tick-tick-ticking away of minutes and hours spent in productive activity.  Tonight I'll look back at my to-do list with items crossed off and feel a sense of accomplishment.  But I'll also lament that my "drifting" time seems so short and, consequently, so precious.

At least, that's the view from here....