Sunday to Monday
Yesterday we took our aluminum-sided fishing boat to a local reservoir for our first outing of the newly-arrived summer season. We had a brief scare that the boat might not actually start, after a long winter, sleeping under layers of tarps and snow. But start it did, to the hand-clapping glee of our three-year-old fishing enthusiast, who is Daddy’s Girl and wants nothing more than to cast her Moana fishing pole with enthusiasm and unbridled hope.
The reservoir is used as open rangeland in the off-season, so there is evidence of our bovine neighbors along the grass-tufted shoreline. Wildflowers, trees and sagebrush are still peeking out their bits of new growth as if unsure if the sun actually means to stick around this time; there’s a furtive quality to early summer in the Northwest. Perhaps it’s surprising that I found balm for my soul in such a humble spot yesterday, with the imperfectly quasi-warm weather and the bits of dried cow chips on the shoreline. This is not the stuff of Instagram influence, it’s no perfect sandy-beach getaway.
But we sipped margaritas and talked and fished and boated, and Daddy caught a frog to the glee of tiny people, who immediately insisted that Mr Frog swim laps in a blue beach bucket for their entertainment. As shadows lengthened, we loaded back in the truck with dirty feet and oily, sunscreened skin, promising each other that this was just the first of many family days by the water this summer. I’ll tell you what, I felt pretty great about it all, until I checked back into the real world this morning: the world of bank accounts and schedules and calendars and cute photos on social media of Other People, doing Other People things like vacationing in exotic locales and having elaborate birthday parties and looking great in spaghetti straps.
A lazy afternoon by a reservoir in cow country, the happy huhuhuhhuh of my horse when he sees me step out my back door, the excited “whaddayafink, mama?” about almost everything, the open-mouthed, wet kiss of my little boy, the discussion of good books, the smile-lines around my husband’s eyes – these are the things that make me feel alive, when I remember to pull my eyes away from the glitter of Other People and look carefully back at my heart. I am not against social media, or the real stuff of being a Grownup Person who needs to pay bills and make appointments and put kids to bed before they fall to pieces. But I am realizing that I have to check my own ease of movement, how quickly I forget the things that matter to me and instead try to shoehorn the loves and needs of Other People into my life.
It’s easy to blame the internet, or technology, or our life circumstances, or even Other People, as they go around living life and broadcasting it, and making me feel bad about my arm-fat. But I don’t want to give so much power to outside energies, technologies which morph quickly and moods which pass. Instead I want to relish this one pure, ecstatic, difficult, powerful life I get, this one life to hug as many necks as I can and speak as much truth as I can muster. In this life, what matters now is the sound of my daughter yelling “watch me mama!”, the smell of burgers and corn on the grill, the grin of my husband on his fishing boat, the warm, sleeping form of my little guy, snuggling his blankie, the words and stories that spring to life from the pages of the books I love, inspiring the books I hope to write someday.
My prayer is that I anchor my feet here, in this one life I have, with my imperfect body and my full schedule and my small bank account; with my unrealized dreams and my not-forever-little children and my lukewarm cup of coffee. I don’t want to lose it because I plugged in too often to the loud voices of our culture, because I allowed myself to grow dissatisfied by watching the highlight reels of lives I won’t live. Because in truth, these are the days I’ll remember – lazy Sundays by the water and Monday mornings at my well-worn kitchen table, listening to bluegrass and babytalk and birdsong, writing down my memories, imploring my heart to stay steady.