The other morning, I woke up slowly, more so than usual. My other half stood in the doorway to our bedroom, his grin wide, a glint in his eyes. Half-awake, I struggled to make out the clock and drag my sorry self into a sitting position. I squinted at Rice, suspicious.
“You must have had quite a dream last night.” He walked in and kissed me.
I returned his greeting with all the love I could muster. “Huh?”
His smile was now more of a smirk. “You let me snuggle up to you to get warm. We were all nice and cozy, and then you mumbled, ‘I hate people.’”
I squirmed. “I did not say that.”
“Oh, but you did,” he assured me. “You didn’t say it meanly. Just sort of under your breath, like how you get when someone makes a thoughtless comment or starts to act rude for no reason.”
Gradually, it started to come back to me. “I was trying to tell you something, but I knew I wasn’t making sense. And that’s what I hated. Not people. Just all the busy-ness in my head.”
“Well,”—he squeezed my hand—"speaking of busy-ness, she’s already here.”
I nodded, knowing exactly what he meant, accepting his unspoken gift with gratitude. A touch of quiet before heading downstairs to my 6:30 weekday morning routine. A sip of hot coffee while brushing my granddaughter Charli’s hair. A little more coffee while she ate her breakfast, then time for our game of Two Truths and a Lie.
Charli: “This morning I woke up, got dressed, and then fed my unicorn.”
Me: “I think the part about the unicorn might be your lie.”
Charli: “Ding-ding-ding. You’re right.” She giggled. Hard.
After that, she walked to the bus, checking out constellations with her Big Daddy. They passed the park as the day broke. Peaceful. On its own clock.
Alone again, my heart was full, as it often is. I’m thankful for that.
Yet sometimes my full heart leaves my restless soul hungry for even more quiet. Like a couple mornings later, when our ritual repeated.
Me: “Today I’m going to go shopping, have lunch with my Happy Hour, and go see the Barbie movie.”
Charlie: “I think the shopping part is your lie.”
Me: “Buzzzzzzzz. Good guess, but you’re wrong.” (It was a good guess as she knows I hate shopping.) “My lie was about the Barbie movie. I already saw it, remember?”
Charlie: “Oh, yeah.” She giggled. “I hope you have fun with your Happy Hour.”
I hoped so, too, because that lunch came during a week filled with busy-ness. Not just the routine stuff, but extras as well…for each and every one of us scheduled for that lunch. We squeezed it between appointments for haircuts and crowns. Around babysitting the grands and visiting doctors. Making time for another friend’s birthday dinner. An elderly parent’s fall.
It’s all good, though. That elderly parent bounced back well—yay, Rita!—and our Happy Hour did have fun. Plus, we didn’t just squeeze in one lunch. We made time for even more.
Granted, it took a special telephone call to make it happen. No emergency, thankfully. Just a "How 'bout I come to visit soon?" call from Debra, one of our Happy Hour foursome, which is still going strong after thirty-two years. Okay, we’re not quite as strong as back in the day. Lunch plans now require buying a round-trip plane ticket, dealing with TSA, figuring out who will brave Atlanta traffic to and from Hartsfield-Jackson, juggling schedules….
In other words, nothing earthshaking. Just life.
So…truth or lie: Life is just a big ol’ blob of busy-ness.
If you’re like me, you’re probably shouting, “Yes!”
Then again, it’s all good. Because sometimes, a little more busy-ness is just what it takes to keep our hearts full.
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