The Joy of Doing Nothing

I don't often do nothing.  I don't know how to simply do nothing.  My husband  says he has never seen me sit completely still and watch a movie.  I always have to be in motion somehow-- accomplishing something-- putting pictures in a scrap book or folding laundry. I don't know if  people still darn socks, but if they did, I suppose I'd be darning socks with one of those wooden  eggs.   But as an overachiever, Type A list maker, I'm going to say right now that we all need to learn how to do nothing.  Sometimes, anyway. Right now, I'm at a little farmhouse in upstate New York where I spent every summer of my life. This is a place that slows me down.  I believe that we must all have a place that takes us down a few paces, slows our gait, forces us to take a deep breath and notice the color of the sky. Right now there is a fire going.  We took a steep hike up to the top of a mountain.  We'll play a board game later.   And so we are watching a movie -- Disney's "Ice Princess"  about a brainiac who decides to become an ice skater.  I'm telling you all of this to prove that I am, in fact, paying attention.   No multi-tasking here for me.    "You don't have your lap top Mom," my daughter said to me approvingly and I snuggled closer on the couch. This was how I wanted them to remember me, not hunched over emails or distracted and fractured into little pieces and pulled in 20 directions. I'm smart enough to know that I have too many demands on my time to do this every day.  There are meals to cook and dishes to wash, homework to help with and doctor's appointments to drive to.  Oh, and there is my job too.  Can't forget about that. But just for this weekend, I am "most revered Mom."  I've hiked and I've baked and snuggled and walked the dogs.  I've sat through a  movie with a plot so predicatable we made a game out of guessing the next lines.  And right when i finish this blog, I'm going to go and do nothing again.  And I'm happy to report it feels pretty darned good.

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