I've been flitting in and out of here lately, posting pictures and a few lines of text, mostly showing you Oriental (which is lovely) or what I'm crocheting/knitting (which is fun). But not a lot of ... um ... substance, you know? I've been busy, too busy.
Here's what I do: I homeschool a very bright 13 year old. That's not much trouble. I rehearse each week with a local chorale for 2 hours. Tonight I start another small ensemble too, for 30 minutes weekly. I'm starting a handchime choir at church, and we'll rehearse weekly, probably on Sundays. Sundays are very full because we have a morning prayer time, Sunday school, worship service, and snack/meal afterward. Add handchime rehearsal to that.
I signed up to teach an ESL course two evenings each week -- a total of 5 hours/week. That's a lot, but I didn't think much of it because -- hey! I'm a teacher! I love teaching, right? Perhaps this is the most disconcerting thing lately, is discovering that I've changed. It seems I don't love teaching as I used to. The ESL class is far below acceptable (poorly run and structured), but still, I'm not liking it at all. What do I want to do?
Sit at home and crochet and knit.
Have I come to a new phase in life? Maybe. Our tastes and pleasures come and go. Or perhaps God guides our desires during each part of life. I do feel productive; I enjoy creating beautiful things to sell.
My days are also full of frequent brief trips to the grocery with Adam, biking in the neighborhood, cooking and eating in the kitchen, evening movies and popcorn, and occasional visits with church members with Adam. My weeks are full.
All that to say, as my body flits around with so much busyness, so does my mind. I have less time to sit and ruminate for lengths of time. The first time we lived for 2 years with my parents, I wrote a novel, a set of short stories, and quite a bit of poetry. This last time we lived with them for 8 months, I wrote another short novel and edited/published my first book. Living with my parents is quiet, reclusive, and creative for me. I can't do that right now. I miss writing.
30 years ago I spent hours each day practicing the piano -- Brahms, Chopin, Lizst. Where did that go? How many hours did I spend ten years ago, studying literature? I don't mourn these losses. Rather I see them as a treasure trove of memories, a chest I can rummage around in when I like to remember those joys.
If I don't wax eloquent on the blog as I used to, I apologize. I do have many thoughts, but my brain is tired. I joke occasionally that I need to break a leg or foot or something minor, to lay me up in bed for a few months so I can quiet my soul and get something useful done. I'm just joking, Lord, when I say that!