A little green shoot of mint.
Good afternoon from sunny, cold Vermont. Today I’m writing around the shape of my dog’s ear. He’s planted squarely onto my keyboard. As I type around him, his little pointed nose is sniffing and sniffing at the bacon cooking in the fryer. He remains ever hopeful. I reach over and nuzzle the crown of his head. He smells like cookies.
It’s strange thing to have a book out since late October and not have feedback. This is the part where I have to be brave, patient, and stay in the present moment, not thinking the worst. Staying in the present moment in my daily life is quite a challenge. Usually my mind focuses on creating possible endings, imagining different worlds, and developing scenarios to help me prepare for EVERYTHING. Reality is not my default. So this last week, I gave it a try, staying alert to the present, and it was–nice. Every time my mind would send out a little green shoot of mint that wasn’t real or current, I’d ask it, “Is that today?” And it would answer abashedly, “Well, no…” And then I’d answer back, “Let’s try just today, shall we?”
As I enter another week, I’m continuing the experiment. Today I’m thinking today things, like blogging, playing my dad’s guitar, visiting my sister, and a friend’s visit to me. I’m thinking about the new prayer shawl I’m knitting up on the sofa, and reading Pilcher’s Winter Solstice for the umpteenth time. Later this afternoon I’ll have a cup of my new beverage of choice, strawberry kefir. And all of today, I’m grateful that I have taken this day off as a personal day, that this tiny fraction of life we call Sunday is mine to enjoy in comfort and without fear.
If you have completed Quill Point and care to comment, I’m at firstname.lastname@example.org or right here blogging. Otherwise, check back next week for another segment of Finding Home.