Squandering, Reconsidered

Saturday night, 8:00p.m.-ish. I’m on the deck (I don’t say “front deck” as we have no back deck providing truth and the promise of symmetry to that sentence) as the sun pushes another day down into a breezy darkness. I was on the couch with the floor fan set at “3” and no sooner settled in to a great read (“One’s Company” by the late Barbara Holland) when a rather loud and admonishing inner voice scolded me into getting up and moving the whole evening wind-down enterprise outside.

I live in the lap of unbridled beauty. No one can see me or our house unless they do some pretty deep trespassing. The wild black raspberries along the driveway are coming on faster than I can pick them and stain my fingers; the cats are lying flat at my feet trying to distribute the coolness of the deck’s planks evenly across their fur-burdened little bodies. In that split-second, it made no sense and bordered on disrespectful to sit inside on a couch with a fan creating a breeze when the real thing was available at no charge just a few steps away. My inner voice is harsh at times, but she tells it like it is.

I’ve been on vacation for just over a week, with another half-week to go, and this stretch of days will certainly not win any awards for Completing A Most Ambitious Project List. Ashamed to admit it, but I sat inside and scrolled aimlessly and much longer than I ever do, watching my screen reports deliver the bad news of my idleness. I expect when I’m back at the office, I’ll feel more than a twinge of guilt and regret for squandering the days I was given. I plunged headfirst into a well of lethargy the likes of which I’ve never known. I’m a doer, not a sitter. It was strange, uncomfortable, and addictive all at once.

Yes, I painted the living room floor as promised and on schedule. That included all the dreaded prep and put-back work that naturally accompanies most painting projects—emptying bookcases of their slightly dusty contents (vowing to downsize, again), moving lighter pieces of furniture into other rooms (turning them into dangerous mazes when I needed to get a coconut water from the fridge or refill the cats’ food dishes), putting slides under the feet of the heavier furniture and pushing it all onto one side, sweeping and scrubbing the floor before applying that first dubious coat (the second coat always makes me feel better, like I made the right decision on color—Bermuda sand from the creative folks at Valspar), all the while keeping the cats exiled to the great outdoors for two days. They’ve just begun talking to me again. I touched everything much more than once, defying that great rule of Efficiency (“touch nothing twice!”) because it was necessary. When Patrick comes home all sunburnt and full of stories from Sundance, I hope he’ll notice how much brighter and unblemished the visible bits of bare floor look, adjacent to a sweet boho throw rug that takes up most of the room’s real estate. Tempted I was at one point to simply paint around that rug, and the chairs and couch and bookcases and blanket chest that serves as our coffee table. But no—I want to be there when it dawns on him that I moved everything by myself. Twice.

I also ventured outside and sang while I hand-pulled and cut down weeds nearly twice my height in the garden. “Honey, I found the garlic"!” I shouted to no one under the unforgiving sun and kept going because there were onions in there somewhere. I’m not ready to talk about the potato bed, but I did harvest the garlic scapes and put a handful in my morning scrambled eggs with a generous toss of sharp white cheddar shreds. And one morning, when it was cool enough, I made granola and a batch of rich and indulgent keto brownies to go with a kick-ass white bean chicken chili (thanking my friend, Marilyn, for the recipe she gave me after we finished a lovely lunch in her shady three-season room). Of course I made too much but Patrick will eat well when he gets home. I also had my teeth cleaned and my hair cut (short enough to gel and spike it and see if I can get away with that look at the office), and showed great restraint on a visit to Costco.

So…about this lethargy and aimless scrolling. I may need to re-evaluate that assessment.

The pace at the office was a solid seven-week relentless and brutal gauntlet before I hit the pause button and sped away in my car to this perpetual 41-acre retreat where everything good and refreshing happens. Numbing screen time rarely makes the to-do list; I was surprised how I allowed it to ensnare me so quickly. I’m no better a human being for viewing all the swimming pool and construction worksite fails that unspool mercilessly without a shred of dignity given to the poor unfortunates who feature unfiltered in these video compilations. I hold fast to that split-second moment when my conscience spoke up and called me out, literally, offering the wiser choice and change of venue, from couch to deck chair and more nourishing views. That decision gives me hope and reassurance that I’m not lost to the world of the shallow and meaningless. I’m just a good soul with some time off wanting to improve my immediate surroundings and eat delicious food. That sort of agenda is bound to bring on a bit of fatigue (see also “exhaustion”, “weariness”, “burnout” and “drained”) when there’s a steady stream (see also “river”, “deluge”, “gully-wash” and “torrent”) of improvement projects demanding all of my energy and attention and a few trips to Lowe’s.

I will always come off a long vacation wishing I did more, didn’t sit around doing the unvirtuous “nothing”, regretting some of my choices. The saving grace is that on that first day back at the office, I’ll get to return to the place where this vacation happened, always and forever known as “home”, and it will still be as refreshing a retreat as if I didn’t need to go back to work at all. I’ve frozen most of the white bean chicken chili and I can always make another pan of those brownies. In the unscheduled and meeting-free days that remain, I will linger, savor and cherish without passing judgment on all that has been placed at my feet and in my hands to enjoy.

Even those 8 Sweet & Savory Tortilla Wrap Hacks.