Yesterday I was jabbering about being rushed and spending so much time in the garden. It seemed like there was a never ending list of chores to be done, all of them a pleasure, all of them things I love to do, but I was whining nevertheless.
In the course of the next 12 hours, my top two menfolk both wound up in the hospital. Suddenly all of that other stuff became so unimportant. All I cared about was them getting better. They will. They'll be fine. And all of the things that really NEED to be done will be done. Some will fall by the wayside, and nobody will even notice.
When my sister and I had our herb shop, we were very determined to succeed, and we did very well. We opened our full-time shop within two weeks of opening our renaissance faire shop for the season. We started holding weekly classes, and soon started accepting speaking engagements. We participated in lots of festivals and fairs, trying to find our niche and get our name out there. We learned to make soap, and sold it in both shops, eventually stretching to sell wholesale (which Maryanne still does). It worked, and the shop was successful almost from the beginning. But our kids and marriages suffered. We were always in a tailspin, cramming more and more into every day until there wasn't a minute to spare.
We had to stop. We changed our lives.
Now that we have our own separate businesses, we still work together, helping each other in tight spots. Our natural tendency to start stuffing our days has reared its ugly head again, and once again we found the month of May to be overwhelming, culminating in the last few days of May and the first weekend of June becoming almost impossibly full.
Imagine our surprise to find both of our men ill. The fast train ground to a halt, and the silence is palpable.
Ok. I get it. I'm listening. The roses need smelling and the lavender wands await weaving. Quiet, peaceful pleasurable pursuits. The rest is all a facade anyway.
