Thinking life would slow down when my son, Cowboy, began working, has proved to be a fallacy. I’m busier than ever. Thankfully, most of it’s enjoyable. Except paperwork for things related to Cowboy’s work program – a pilot program that enables him to earn money working at the food bank where he used to volunteer. The paperwork for that, as well as details regarding his Medicaid Waiver and the Texas Workforce Commission, has been an ongoing process, and has tested my already shaky sanity at times. It’s good that entry into heaven doesn’t require paperwork; hell, on the other hand, must be filled with fireproof filing cabinets that store an eternity of forms, letters, and “things to be signed.” Ugh. The devil is always in the details.
Last week, a small voice reminded me, Stop complaining. Be grateful for the programs Cowboy is in. An attitude adjustment was in order. It was similar to the adage, “Don’t complain about dirty dishes, because that means you’ve had food to eat.” I inhaled 95 deep breaths and 95 M&Ms, and counted my blessings.
When I’m not tending to necessities, I’m looking out my back door for birds, which have disappeared. Something about nesting and mating. Whatever. That’s what the late night hours are for. The birds and bees are here to entertain mankind during waking hours. Or so I thought. My bluebonnets have faded, but my new striped roses are thriving, and the Plant Formerly Known as Hyacinth has moved out of her pot and into the cactus garden, which no longer has cactus; it died in a freeze two years ago. “Hyacinth,” as it turns out, is actually “Kalanchoe.” She has survived since I acquired her three years ago, but had stopped flowering. Radar, Cowboy’s employment assistant and all-round walking book of knowledge, told me that Kalanchoe is a succulent. Succulent – a seductive name for a class of plants; I expect to find Kalanchoe mingling with Yucca under the stars one night. She seems to be doing well in her new place.
Mind you, dear reader, while I’m watering plants, lamenting over birds, answering emails, and signing more papers than necessary to purchase a home, I’m thinking about writing. It never leaves me, because it is what I want to do. But I’ve become somewhat lazy, as I slowly wrap my mind around composing this first book. It’s overwhelming at times; most of the work thus far has been in my mind. Which book to compose first, the order of chapters, how to make the chapters flow, editing the text once again, etc., are only the beginnings of my to-do list. And I’m learning to navigate my recently revamped website, thanks to my extraordinary website designer. Oddly, during this phase, I’m enjoying life more than I have in a very long time. Not because things are perfect, but because I’m loving my home more, working in the yard, and finding little time for sitting and doing nothing. As I’ve aged, I’ve become more like Flash and Cowboy; they do well when they stay busy.
Because the great outdoors has become one of my Top 5 Obsessions. I’m trying to figure out how to hook up my laptop on the back patio so I can write, compose, and edit while gazing at my wonderful 5-foot rooster. We’ve added quite a bit to our metal menagerie, and on a recent trip to East Texas, I saw, as I often do, multicolored fowl being sold along the highway.
Most of those roosters are seen at 70 mph on our trips, as I yell, “Oh look, Flash!”
“You want to stop?” he asks, to seem supportive.
“Stop? You’re already two exits past it.”
“You want me to turn around?” he always asks, knowing I will say no. I’m a firm believer in the “don’t circle back” philosophy. If gas stations, restaurants, and stores are on the opposite side of the freeway when we’re traveling, they’re off limits. Nobody can get hurt or ill unless emergency rooms are on the right-hand side of the freeway, and bathroom stops must follow the same stringent regulations. Which sometimes means bladders are stretched to the size of California, and we reminisce about the last meal we had, as our blood sugar plummets.
And so, Flash always consoles me with, “We can stop on the way home.” But, because “on the way home” is usually on a Sunday, those rooster stores are closed. So, for years, I’ve been denied the object of my desire.
But this time, when Flash asked if I wanted to stop, I said “Yes,” faster than he could speed up. The last rooster I’d priced was a little taller than the one I was eyeing from the car, but that larger one was pricey; I’m not paying $300 for any bird, real or welded. Flash and Cowboy stayed in the car while I got out and looked around.
“I’m getting this rooster,” I proclaimed, pointing to the biggest one that would fit in our van, if we rearranged luggage.
Flash cringed. “You want that? How much?” the Man with Mixed-Up Priorities asked, with a disgusted look on his face.
“I’ve got enough money,” I assured him, offended that he found my True Love less than attractive.
After learning the business accepts only cash, we drove to the nearest ATM. We would have to break the no circling back rule, but if it’s to get money and return to a business to make a purchase we’ve already picked out, it’s allowed; that’s the fine print in the Lindquist Traveling Rules Handbook. On the way back to Mr. Rooster, on the right-hand side of the road, was a different metal art shop. Because Flash saw a few things he liked, he stopped the car immediately, and we all started shopping. Flash picked out a large sunflower, later claiming he bought it for me; it now lives in our cactus-less garden where the real sunflowers are growing. His other choice was a patriotic spinner…it has skinny, curved fan blades with some blades facing up and some facing down. When the wind blows just right, the blades spin in opposite directions. It’s perfect for our Texas-themed backyard. Of course, I wanted a metal alligator to hide in the grass and terrorize small children, and give me a laugh. Instead, we have a remote control gator head in our pool – it has sufficiently scared at least one of Cowboy’s unsuspecting friends.
We sped back to pick up Mr. Rooster, and it took four of us to get him in the van. But art is more important than luggage. That rooster completes me. And he’s a great diversion from stressful activities. Such as tax returns. I was delighted to have an extension until June to file my return, which meant I could wait even longer to start. But finally, through endless coffee and steering clear of the backyard, I started them this week. Of course, writing is my distraction to taxes. I’d much rather talk to you, dear reader, than look at one more number.
Unfortunately, Mr. Rooster and a million other things also lure me from my writing. After living with two attention-challenged males, I’m finding myself in the same boat. I often have “Hey, look, there’s a squirrel” moments in mid-conversation. For me, that’s also a literal statement, as I watch for furry rodents each day.
“I’ve had emails, and paperwork, and meetings, and taxes, and bills, and I need to mow the grass if it ever quits raining, and I have a pile of 100 books to read, and I need to plan another party for Cowboy to see his friends, and I’m planning our couple vacation for when Cowboy goes to camp, and I’m planning our big family vacation for next year, and I need to grocery shop, and I haven’t cooked a decent meal in two weeks, and I need to spray the yard for mosquitoes, and my laundry’s been in the washer for 36 hours,” I spewed to a friend recently, adding, “and I want to write, but everything else is happening too.”
My friend waited patiently, knowing there was more. With me, there’s always more.
“But I am enjoying life so much,” I added.
“That’s great. That’s what it’s all about, and maybe it’s all a part of it,” my wise friend responded. I knew exactly what she meant.
All of it, every distraction, every new passion, every minute I write or edit, every time I stop everything to talk to Flash, every game of Uno Flip I play with Cowboy when I “should” be checking something off my to-do list, every cup of coffee I sip while sitting in the sunshine, every glimpse of a squirrel as he sneaks into my yard, every second I dance when I’m alone in my house, every phone call I answer from a friend in need, every minute I’m quiet and still before God, every fit of uncontrollable laughter, every interruption to what I deemed most important at the moment – it’s all about the same thing. Life. Quality of life.
Yet, I spend too many hours with guilt and regret when I am not writing enough; I want to return to daily writing time. Recently, a friend asked me, “Do you feel like you’re letting people down when you don’t write?”
I was stunned. She had me all figured out. “Yes,” I said, relieved that she understood what I wasn’t saying. “I do, all the time. Like my readers are doing nothing in life but waiting until I post another article. Of course, I know they are going about their lives, but the sense that I am disappointing them seldom goes away. Most of all, I have extremely high expectations of myself, and when I don’t meet them, I’m my worst critic.”
Again, saying the truth out loud set me free. My guilt subsided when I refocused – I realized I had forgotten why I write. When I lose sight of my reason, it suddenly becomes an obligation, rather than one of the highest honors and joyful things in my life. My why is, and will always be, to bring hope and joy to others. And to myself, as well.
When I released my disappointment in myself, I began working on my book more, and began my first draft of this article. I forgave myself for setting standards on myself that I’d never impose on a friend, and I began to embrace my distractions as well as my writing. But in the midst of changing my mindset, I feared laziness would rear its ugly head again. I need accountability in my writing. And that’s when my beautiful, blue-eyed friend Crystal walked up to the counter at the church café one Sunday, when I was working there.
“How’s the book going?” she asked, after I took her order.
I tried to hide my deer-in-the-headlights look, as I hesitated to answer, trying to come up with a response than didn’t sound lazy or wouldn’t disappoint.
“Like moving in molasses,” I answered honestly. “I have the chapters of the first book put together, and I’ve edited it some. There’s so much to do.”
“Okay,” she responded. “Well, if anyone can do it, you can. You wanted us, your readers, to check on your progress, so I thought I’d ask.”
I was grateful. That’s what I’d needed. Too often, with my wonderful distractions, it’s easy to defer to a “better time” to be a writer, as if I can stop and start being what I am. Writing is hard work. And, as is the human condition, I often pick easy over hard, especially when things in other areas of my life are challenging. I practically ran to my writing room after church that day, and did more book editing. Since I began this journey five years ago, every time I need help as a writer, God sends motivation, story ideas, or a reader to encourage me. Often, it is my friend Rosebud, who simply says, laughing, “Hurry up and write your book.” Thank you, dear reader, for being in this with me; you help me refocus and remember why I write.
I’ll always have distractions and interruptions. The key is to consider most of them blessings, rather than enemies, that bring variety to my life. And to keep on writing in the midst of a million other things.
