you know that

stingy feeling in your eyes? When they're saying "please please we want a nap and it won't take long and we promise we'll stop stinging if you just have a nap and see? We'll just close for a bit here, now doesn't that feel nice? Mmm ... WAIT! why are you opening us again? We had a deal here. Nap, just a nap... please please"

I've only been up 3 hours and they're at it already.

le sigh.

today and every day

"I pray you stay foolish enough to think

you can change the world."

- Seren

schedule

You can't schedule creativity. At least, I can't. I can plan times when I want to put things together, make myself sit at the piano and figure out good chord progressions and melodies; I can stare at the page and try different phrases. Sometimes that works, and it is a good exercise in writing and composing. I find, though, that for me it often comes of its own volition and then not when I've expected it.

Last night after I dropped the kids off at choir and I was driving home, I got smacked with a new song idea. And I liked it. I kept repeating it, getting more excited about it as I came down the driveway. I muttered line possibilities to myself while I closed up the chickens for the night as they rolled their eyes and clucked "there she goes again...". This morning, I added a few more lines, changed some. I revisited the idea to make sure I still liked it, and I did.

And it's a secret. For now.

run

I've been over this before. I don't enjoy it. While I do it, every step asks "why?" or whines "noooo...". But it's easy, it's accessible, and I must grudgingly admit that I'm feeling better today for it.

From house to road is 500 metres. I was up and back twice yesterday, and but for pauses at each end and caving in for a brief walk on the last stretch, I did it. 2km isn't much, but it's a start. I have no plans for entering a race, but have my own little goals. They're a secret for now, whispering excitedly in my head.

The paradox of discipline: I don't want to do it. I don't like it. I make myself do it. I complain while I do it ... but know, deep down, that the complaining is not what I need to listen to. I push through. I feel better and am better for it. And that's not just running.

sometimes

... the amount of work left to do here gets me a little down. It is, frankly, overwhelming. Never-ending. Daunting. Difficult. Physical. That's enough adjectives; you get the point.

Today, one of a series of beautiful days almost too pleasant for early April, was one of cutting unruly shrubs, bringing out patio furniture, and more cleanup. I admitted defeat in the rake search and bought another one at the hardware store (and, by so doing, ensured that I'll find the old one soon. Always works that way). The gardens - so many! - need attention. The chickens were dust bathing in my veggie garden boxes until I shooed them out. The composter is going to be moved. D very obligingly chainsawed some growth that was beyond my cutters' ability, before continuing on his way to clear more of the undergrowth along the driveway.

Inside was busy too; I changed the girls' beds, washed their quilts and the soon-to-be-shelved flannel sheets, and made up the beds with fresh cotton sheets. Four loads of laundry, all dried on the line in the sweet spring breeze, and I seem somewhat caught up. The mittens, hats and scarves were put away and the summer shoes brought out.

It is getting better, so much better than when we moved here. What a mess it was! I love it here. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else. But sometimes I get a little down about how much is left. After supper (roast beef and fries with gravy) I believe a walk to the log I sit on by the creek is in order.

I heard spring peepers last night. Remembering that fact alone is enough to give me a little lift.

It'll get better.