MID SUMMER PAUSE

I've had the luxury of tending my gardens, painting the back steps,and envisioning the new color scheme for our bedroom. I've slept in, napped in the hammock in the afternoons, read a novel, and now we're planning the menus for our camping trip to Paradise (Montana) later this week. It's actually felt like summer with quiet time, sandals, salads, heat at night and, yes, taking the dogs to the river nearly every day.

I have paste-it notes with projects calling to me from my desk: put book into local Farmer's Market, check storyfix.com and willweaverbooks.com, consider submitting to WeMoon Calendar, read "creating strong female protagonist hints." These notes rival my gardening list: finish weeding out quack grass, sew flax seed in wild garden, fertilize tomatoes, check radicchio for seeds to gather, harvest mint. I thrive on lists. They keep boredom at bay.

But boredom has companioned me this summer too, even with the obligations of marketing my book, working and grand mothering. I've found myself sitting (or lying in the hammock) with no agenda, very little chatter, and no needs. Born of the deep gratitude I'm feeling for my health, family, yard and friends, I stop the world to look around, and really take in the beauty, the privilege of leisure and my good fortune. Nothing prods me to move even if I scan my mental agenda for the day. The body sensation of receiving, of allowing myself to be simply nurtured by breathing pure life with each inhale open a space for being.

Just what is this 'time out' a function of? Aging? Fatigue from a stressful spring? Fibromyalgia? Worse? I laugh at my pathologizing voices, and if pressed to label the cause I'd say "aging." But I'd quickly qualify it. It's not aging like 'old and creaky' (like the rocking chair I refuse to part with that I got when I was pregnant with my 37 year old daughter),but aging like good wine or dry cheese: mellow and sharp, formed gently by daily existence, exuding a radiance beyond smell or taste; the product of countless experiences flowing through and around time.

So there it is, I'm taking my time this summer. MY time, and the consequences of this indulgence will just play themselves out, or not! Thankfully we have little trips planned that allow for just such moments: camping by a river at the end of a long dirt road, attending a wedding in rural Washington, floating down the Missouri River for 5 days. These are doable adventures even during a recession and totally support just being. It's practice for "just being" in court, at work or in traffic. So if I have to justify my times out I can say "I'm practicing 'just being.'"

My you enjoy your summer in a lawn chair, in a hammock or by a river, just being.