Not a feeling often in Florida, but I’m feeling like the old adage, my life is like a snowball rolling down a steep mountain, choosing its path among many possibilities.
I’m trying to decide on two contest entries, a short story and a novel, and whether they’re “good enough” to have a chance of winning. I’ve wavered on my choices, revised and evaluated, hopcing judges will see value in each or both. My resident perfectionism curse rears its ugly head, noticing every possible flaw in each, predicting yet another second-place finish in a long string of disappointments. Then, I wonder, why even submit them to scrutiny? What does it all matter?
Then, my rational self says, you can’t win if you don’t enter. So, I ask my writing critique group for their opinions, right? They offer their suggestions, some of which make me wonder about their comments, revise parts again, and think, now you’ve lost the original spontaneity. So, I have yet more input, therefore initiating more self-doubt.
Then, there’s the in-family debate about, of all things, what do you want to do for Mother’s Day? I would be satisfied with a few kind words, but now it’s a “where should we go out to eat with nine of us on a very busy Sunday? It makes me feel like the “obligation” in our kids’ already-too-busy lives. Growing up, it was simple: make Mom breakfast, do the dishes, pick a flower from the garden, and play her a piece on the piano or draw her a picture she’d proudly tape to the refrigerator, and give her hugs. Little kids’ snuggles and genuine expressions of love are the best. Now that my kids are grown and my grandchildren are invested in their own hopes and dreams and activities, I’d like nothing better than a note expressing their love, or a sweet surprise, or a “let me play you a piee I’m working on.” That would be wonderful.
On Monday, my writers here at Glenbrooke will receive praise for the anthology they’ve written. We’ll have a book signing event in their honor. I’m so hoping they receive the recognition they deserve for their efforts. It’s supposed to rain. UGH.
Now that the school year is about to end, our three teachers are overwhelmed by school concerts, a school trip tomorrow to Busch Gardens (it’s supposed to rain), making plans for next year, storing hundreds of instruments, hoping mildew from carpet cleaning or lack of air-conditioning doesn’t wreak havoc with them, and compiling records of their achievements that will undoubtedly never get read. It’s a busy time. And the grandkids have been tested and evaluated the last few weeks, adding to their stress levels. They’ve played numerous concerts, will say goodbye to classmates, and face new challenges next school year.
Summer looms with many plans and hot and humid wather. We pray against hurricanes. We pray for relaxation and refreshment, and we fill weeks with camps, trips, and activities designed to make memories and increase skills. Changing schedules bring their own sets of “Do I have to?.: stresses, not unlike the celebration of Mother’s Day debate we’re going through right now. Summer in our family means five birthdays, a wedding anniversary and cruise for Paul and Mary, a wedding they’ll have to travel to attend, and completion of the kitchen project which has loomed over them for several years. For us retirees, it means same-old0same-old questions: “What shall we do today?” as doldrums set in.
So, we reevaluate our lives a bit, do the best we can to enjoy each day, and look for meaningful ways to encourage each other. Should we embrace or feel guilty as we mutter, “This is the day that the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!
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