Sometimes invitations to rest come in funny ways.
I think of the days of my littles on tricycles. I indulged in fantasies back then, imagining I could grab some exercise on Victory Memorial Parkway too, but with peddling toddlers, there was no getting my heartrate up. I watched them favor full stops over movement, their triking ways carefree and slow. But in the moment, it was a call for me to rest. And sometimes I saw it.
I think of the minutiae of the day now—the paperwork of life—and when online bill pays or registrations are halted because of system errors, timed-out sessions, needed updates, or loss of connectivity. At first, I’m irritated, but it’s a call for me to rest. And sometimes I see it.
I think of all the illnesses around me lately. Flus and colds and stomach bugs abound. I feel fine, but eight of my friends and three of my family members are figuratively limping along, tissue boxes in tow. I don’t worry I’m next, but I think of upping my good practices and slowing down anyway. It’s a call for me to rest, and I can see it.
I think of the times I’m hustling to work when I steer the Toyota around that corner and see the neighborhood’s fowl strutting across the street. They’re not quick about it. In fact, those turkeys sashay with a sense of entitlement, looking down beaks and over feathered shoulders at me with disinterest. No, you can wait, they seem to say. I exhale with intention because it might be a call for me to rest. Okay, I guess it is. No, I can see for sure it is.
Today the atmosphere is dotted with snowflakes, and I know roads will be as slick as two days ago when Husband witnessed buses and cars sliding down the hill going towards Central. I’ll take another route to work, just in case—no sense getting my proverbial long johns in a twist over it—and even in the longer drive, there’s a call to rest. I can already see it.
*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family, neighbors, and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.