January 2, 2007
It's a funny thing to be done with vacation, but then not really done with vacation. We came to Randy's mom's in Indiana for New Year's, and for Grandpa. We were due to head back home today, but the call came at 6:20 a.m. that Grandpa had passed away. The days stretch in front of us now as we wait, anxious to help but otherwise in a holding pattern until Saturday's funeral.
We've done all the dishes and four loads of laundry. We've taken walks, played games, read books, colored pictures, played the piano, and done crossword puzzles. The kids are pecking at each other like chickens and my nerves are beginning to fray like worn embroidery floss. And it's only 3:30 p.m. Out here in rural Indiana, the closest shopping is 30 minutes away over a rollercoaster of country roads. I am wishing we had projects to do: scrapbooking or painting furniture or knitting. Naturally, the kids' new Christmas toys have already lost their initial allure. We need construction paper and glue and great wads of playdough. I feel a great tide of energy-sucking idleness starting to set in. It's hard to be productive in someone else's home, and yet too much leisure time leaves me feeling antsy.
It seems that this should be a great time of creativity for me. I should be spouting off profound articles or getting ready for enrichment classes. But somehow I feel unable to focus without the comfort of my tiny office nook (AKA, the kitchen desk) in my cozy house.
So next time I'm lamenting that I wish I had a little time to myself just to sit and read a book, please remind me, friends, that there is much joy in the bustle of an ordinary day at home.
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