Summer weekend mornings

Most mornings are a scramble. Slapped awake by the alarm clock. Blinded by the jarring shock of lamplight. Stumble to the bathroom. Fumble for contact lenses. Toothpaste. Gah, the water is never really warm enough when I step in the shower. And from there it's go, go, go - hair dryer, eyeliner, earrings, wrangle a kid to school, barely kiss a husband on the way out the door.

Breakfast? No time. Coffee? Ha. Lunch? Forgot to bring it - again. Hurry, hurry, no matter how early I get up.

Then sit in traffic.

Weekend mornings are supposed to be a reprieve from the workday chaos: sleeping late, lounging in PJs and watching TV. I do this when I can, but then I often find myself playing catch-up. The movie matinee starts soon and I haven't showered yet. The doorbell just rang and I'm still in PJs. A friend wants to grab lunch and do a little shopping, but my hair is a bird's nest. We need to leave for church and I haven't even finished my coffee.

And so it's the familiar morning scramble imposing on my weekend.

Saturday morning, I took a different approach. I slept until I woke on my own - no alarm - but instead of acknowledging the morning, comforting myself with "It's the weekend," and then rolling over to sleep another hour or so, I got up. It was early - depending on your definition of early - 7 a.m. or so, and I opted to take a quiet stroll around my yard and gardens, coffee in hand.

It was an overcast morning, which kept the summer temperature tolerable. I listened to birds chirp, cackle and chase. I hung out with my dog - the only other resident of my house who was awake - and just took it all in.

There was only one hiccup.

Hello, my name is Jax, and I immediately regret my decision to poop on the patio. I have ample green space for this purpose and it is unacceptable for me to misuse this space as such. I also regret having made this egregious error within the direct vicinity of my mommy while she was having her morning coffee on said patio. And while my given name is technically not "Dammit Jax" I now realize it is in my best interest to respond to it when called and not tuck my tail and try to hide from Mommy. I have learned my lesson and will do better in the future. - Sincerely, Jax.

I met the rest of my day at my own pace.

I enjoyed the start to my Saturday morning so much, I decided to continue the vibe this morning. Up shortly after 7 again, I sipped my coffee while curled up on the couch and then threw some comfy clothes on and headed up the road about a mile to the local high school, the school my son attends.

I walk here all the time, but this Sunday morning, without the hubbub of practices, tournaments, classes and other school-related activities going on (yes, even in summer), it was remarkably peaceful, almost park-like. In fact, there is a lovely garden in the back of the school that I usually whizz past while exercising, but decided to stop and explore a little more closely today.

I had a nice workout and was home in time to have breakfast and pull myself together for church. No rush, no fuss.

Not every weekend will lend itself to this sort of schedule. There will be many times when I need to sleep later out of necessity or get up much earlier to conquer a busy day before daylight.

But stepping out of the house when I don't actually need to, just for the mere enjoyment of it helped me see the day at its start - and the world around me - in a different, less hurried way.

"An early morning walk is a blessing for the whole day" - Henry David Thoreau

No complaints

I am super busy this week at work.

Like, nutty busy. My eye twitched so hard today, it stayed shut for an extra beat longer than it should have.

But I have no complaints.

We are hosting an event this weekend and my house is ... well, it's dirty. Like, no-one-cleaned-me-all-winter dirty.

I'm okay with it.

I saw a huge lizard the size of a a baby dinosaur - you know, the ones that eat human flesh - run into my garage and vanish among the clutter.

Stressed?

Okay, that weirds me out a little, but it's fine.

It's fine. Really.

 

A trip last weekend to a historic herb farm about an hour away left me feeling relaxed, cheerful and a little blissful.

And it's stuck with me so far this week.

 

The farm is Stream Cliff Herb Farm and you can learn more about it here. If you are ever in southern Indiana, I highly recommend stopping by.

It's a humble place, whose history dates back to 1821. Seven generations have lived on the farm and today it includes a private residence built in the 1830s and several out buildings, converted over the years into shops, a tea room, craft house and winery. There are soothing secret gardens and greenhouses bursting with flowers. Vegetable starts and herbs are just waiting for a home in your garden and, eventually, your kitchen table.

A friend and I took our time strolling the grounds and taking in the sights, gathering inspiration for our own yards from the weedy-casual, yet time-perfected, gardens. We chatted and laughed over a delish lunch garnished with edible flowers and herbs from the property. I savored my glass of punchy-sweet lemonade like it was dessert.

And then we shared a hunk of hummingbird cake for a real dessert. It was so rich, we couldn't even finish it.

 

Heaven.

I've been able to carry that relaxed vibe with me - for the most part - the rest of this week. There was something just, I don't know ... special ... about the aged beauty of the property: the juxtaposition of a practical working farm against the girlie-indulgence of overflowing pink flowers; the crowd of happily chattering (mostly) ladies; and the potential greatness that simmers in every summer garden. Maybe a little of that grace rubbed off on my weary attitude.

Oh, I'm sure it'll all fade soon enough, as the long commute, endless deadlines, forgotten grocery lists, dog-nose smeared windows, cat barf-stained linens, constant kid taxi and burning-tire smell of dropped pizza cheese in the oven will wipe it all away.

Until then, however, I have no complaints.

And then there was the sun

The screech of the alarm this morning at 5:50 was greeted with a hearty smack of the snooze button.

It was dark.

Too dark.

Without the orange-pink slips of burgeoning morning light dancing between the slats of my bedroom blinds, there was no real incentive to get up. Dark + cold = night = sleep. It's math.

Math is power.

Unfortunately, it was daytime. A gloomy daytime.

Bleh.

Overnight, the temps had dipped all the way back into the 40s. Egad, it's March all over again! I cuddled further into the blankets, hoping to stave off the chill and inevitable "eh eh eh eh eh" of the alarm a little longer.

Breezy and damp, the highs only reached the upper 50s today. Multiple jolts of caffeine couldn't keep the yawns at bay. The afternoon dragged on. All the way home, I consoled myself with, "I'll curl up on the couch in sweats, watch Supernatural on NetFlix and take a nap."

My evening was planned.

And then the craziest, most unexpected thing happened ...

The sun came out.

Okay, maybe it wasn't so crazy or unexpected to those who had watched local weather reports. I had been ensconced in season 6 of Supernatural (Sammy got his soul back!) and hadn't caught the forecasts.

The sun tugged at me. It pulled me off the couch. It whispered, "Come out and play."

Creepy, whisper-y sun.

I ventured out, abandoning my Winchester boys to NetFlix and hit the dirt. I planted my veggie garden, pulled weeds, cleared mountains of helicopters discarded by the maples, and took in the blissful kiss of lilac on the soft evening breeze.

I also stepped in dog poop.

All in all, a good spring evening in the garden, thanks to the invitation of the setting sun.

Garden views

“The best place to find God is in a garden. You can dig for him there.” - George Bernard Shaw

Roses and more roses.

You might call it a rusty fence, but we like to think of it as aged patina.

I don't know what it is, but I love it, I do.

Bright and sunny in the red pots.

Petunias beginning to climb.

Love, love, love red geraniums. Always have and always will.

Peek-a-boo frog has seen many seasons from the back porch; so has the antique crock.

I know why they call them impatients - I can wait to see more purple-y blooms.

That tiny, tiny bud? Gonna be a tomato on my salad very soon.

"To forget how to dig the earth and to tend the soil is to forget ourselves." - Mahatma Gandhi