Mud Season

'The world is mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful.' - e.e.cummings

It's mud season in Breckenridge.

Also Gracie shedding her winter coat season.

Things are sort of messy here.  Soggy and smelly and somehow sublime.  Funky and furry and full of promise.  Some mornings we walk out with the dogs and you can feel it in the air.  Everything changing.  Life circling.  Gracie is getting ready for warmer weather.  The earth is soaking up the snowmelt.  There are worms on the roads and birds in the trees.  Mucky magnificence is everywhere.  It's springtime in the Rockies.

It's spring, and it is quiet.  Ski season is over and the mountain has closed.  Most of the tourists have left town.  Summer is still a few weeks away, so the hikers and bikers have not yet arrived.  A lot of the restaurants in town are taking a break and have closed their doors for a few weeks.  The ones that are open are running some really good specials.  Which we have been taking advantage of.  On occasion.

Tractor Shed Red at Modis

Elk at Hearthstone

Some of the locals have told us they love this time of year.  They like how you can go downtown and get a parking spot on Main Street.  They like how there aren't long lines in the grocery store, and how it feels like their town again.  They like the quiet.  I don't know if they like the mud.  Gracie does.  When we go out walking she heads straight for every puddle and ditch she sees.  Gracie is pretty low to the ground.  And yellow.  Ish.  At least when we leave the house.

Boreas Pass

Gold King Road

Burro Trail

When she gets home she is sopping and stinky and ready for a rub down.  Which she loves even more than playing in puddles.

I kind of love the mess and the muck too.  But then dirt has always made me happy.  I love to dig in it with my bare hands.  To weed and plant and help things grow.  Maybe it's because my ancestors were farmers.  Maybe it's because I was born under an earth sign.  Or maybe it comes from my childhood.  I don't remember my mom ever getting mad at us for coming home muddy and dirty.  We played in the field behind our house all year long.  There was a pond in the field, and a long ditch leading to it.  We had ditch jumping contests, and sometimes we fell in.  We brought home tadpoles from the pond that we left in the garage and forgot about.  We built forts in the field.  My mom let us make messes.  She let us get dirty.  Maybe she was just distracted.  Or maybe she knew what science now says is true.  That playing in the dirt is healthy.  That playing in the dirt can actually make you happy.

When we were in the process of moving out of our place in Lihue, the place that had no room for me to dig, I had a dream.  I dreamed we had moved in to our new home in Kapaa with the jungle backyard and that I was lying spread eagle on the ground embracing the earth.  I was hugging the ground with my whole body.  And I was happy.

Gracie's hair doesn't make me all that happy.  It's everywhere.  Floating in the air, landing on the table, getting in our food.  It covers our floors and clothes.  Even Rufus, the big black lab, has her hair all over him.  Life's messy.  Especially in mud season.  And giving birth is messy.  And creating things is messy.  Sometimes messy is good.  I will always be grateful to my mom for letting us make messes.  For letting us create.  And get dirty.  And play in the mud.

I hope I never stop wanting to play.  To splash in puddles.  To see the promise in the fuzz and slime.  Because what are the chances that we even get to be here to experience it?

'And I was some of the mud that got to sit up and look around.  Lucky me, lucky mud.' - Kurt Vonnegut

There's always something to get through.  Mud season and Gracie shedding her winter coat season are temporary.  The next season will come.  There will be blossoms.  Things will come back to life.  There's no way to avoid the mess right now, so we are splashing right through.  Waiting to see what comes next.  Looking for buds.  Anticipating blooms.  Trying to remember to look up.

And to find joy.

In mud season.

Or any season.

A Smallish Nap or Two

"Let's begin by taking a smallish nap or two..."

said Winnie the Pooh.

We have begun our time in Breckenridge by taking a smallish nap or two. Possibly three. Actually, we have been napping a lot. We are blaming the lack of oxygen. Also the altitude. Are those the same things? We are also blaming the snow. And maybe the universe. Are those the same things too? When it snows so much that you can't get out of your driveway, it is almost as if the universe has given you permission to rest. To sit in your comfortable chair and read and think and do quiet at-home things all day. And to nap. Should the need arise. We have been trying to listen to what The Universe is telling us. And right now, here in the mountains of Colorado, it seems to be telling us to nap.

We haven't been napping the whole time of course.

One of us has been learning a new skill.

And we have managed to get out and meet some of our neighbors.

We have even been sharp enough, on occasion, to notice things around us that we haven't seen before.
Like fire hydrants and electrical boxes with big fluorescent poles attached.

Does the snow really get this deep?

And bags of chips in the grocery store that look like they're going to explode.

If the altitude can do this to a bag of chips, what is it doing to my body?

When we are feeling especially alert, we have even ventured out to the state of the art Breck Rec Center.

Where we have exercised.

With caution.

And of course the dogs do need to get out and poop at regular intervals.

Not napping.

In our previous lives we didn't nap this much. We used to be productive members of society. Maybe we were even addicted to being productive. I used to measure out my days with lists in my head of everything I was going to accomplish. Exercise and lose ten pounds! Memorize all of Bach's Two Part Inventions! Read the 100 greatest books ever written! Eat green smoothies for lunch and drink only one glass of wine with dinner and live forever and lose ten pounds. Read and study and practice and be a better piano teacher. Be patient and kind and inspiring to every single student. Paint the house, clean the yard, organize everything. Be a better daughter, mother, sister, wife and friend. And in my spare time, save the world. Self improvement, home improvement, everything improvement. Everything on The List. Ticking items off in my head as I did them. Measuring my worth by how many I had accomplished by the end of the day. By how well I used every single moment of every single hour. Feeling guilty if even one second was wasted.

And then there was Gary. Living on adrenaline. Living in a world where you were praised for coming in to work early, and praised for staying late. Where your value as an employee increased in direct proportion to the number of times you said yes to evening and weekend commitments. A world where you were applauded for making your job your life. A world where all the superhuman humans were expected to be available 24/7 to put out the latest fire. To deal with the latest crisis in a world where there was always a crisis. A world where you couldn't just sit and listen to the rain, because in the back of your mind you knew if it started flooding you would have to go in and open up the Emergency Operations Center, no matter what time of day or night it was. And of course it was exciting sometimes. And of course sometimes it felt like what you were doing really mattered. That you were making a difference. That you were making the world just a little bit better. But still. There wasn't much time to nap.

And Gary couldn't keep living on adrenaline forever. And I was tired of being a slave to my projects and my lists. So we decided to try and change things. To take the time, and make the time, to rest. To take the time, and make the time, to try and think about the hard things, and try to find some answers we could live with. But so far, here in Breckenridge, the resting part is winning.

We both brought our little projects with us on the road. I brought my cross-stitch supplies. Gary brought his ukulele. We brought the chess board and the backgammon set and two packs of cards. But after 100 days on the road, and a whole month here in one spot, we haven't used any of them. There is a pool table here that we haven't touched. Instead, we have been resting. And reading. And getting lost in cyber-world. We have been watching House of Cards, and Game of Thrones, and movies on Netflix. And drinking too much wine with dinner. And napping.

And it is hard for me to get away from the idea that I am being lazy. It is hard to get away from the idea that I need to be more productive with my time. That we should be out immersing ourselves in everything this area of the country has to offer. That we should be thinking more about the hard things, and using this time to better plan our future. We are participating in the "sharing economy." We are taking care of two beautiful dogs in exchange for a place to live. What we are doing does have some value. And maybe it is actually one of the most valuable things we will ever do. To take care of these living beings. To help someone and have them help us in return.

But it is hard to get rid of my old ways of thinking. I still have my list. It's shorter, but it still exists. I still want to read the 100 greatest books ever written. I still want to exercise more and lose ten pounds. I still want to figure out what to do with the rest of my life. And how to save the world. Or at least make it better in some tiny Lisa way. So I have been reading. And documenting each book I finish on my little list on Goodreads. Which somehow helps a little. And I have been exercising. When I have the energy. And we have spent time charting out the course of our next few months on the road. We have scheduled house-sits, and a work exchange, and free time to visit family and friends. But it isn't enough to silence the judge in my head.

But resting was on the list!

We are productively resting! We are accomplishing rest!

We can put a checkmark next to it!

So I am working on letting go of the guilt and just letting myself be. Without expectation. Without judgement. The dogs are good role models. They eat. They play. They poop. They nap. Mostly they nap. Sometimes we all nap together. Gary on the couch. Me on the loveseat. The dogs next to us on the floor. All of us snoring blissfully. The snow falling outside. Nobody thinking. Nobody trying to save the world. Nobody trying to figure out what to do with their lives. Everybody resting. Doing nothing at all.

And maybe someday I really will lose ten pounds and get rid of this menopausal basketball that has appeared without my permission in the place where my stomach used to be. And maybe someday I really will memorize all of Bach's Two Part Inventions. For no apparent reason. And read all 100 of the greatest books ever written. If I can figure out which list to use. And I will be a better daughter, mother, sister, wife and friend. And I will figure out what to do with the rest of my life. And how to save the world. In my spare time. And I will drink only one glass of wine with dinner. Which will probably help with the basketball thing. Someday. But maybe, just now,  I will begin by taking a smallish nap or two.