Wednesday, July 15, 2015

The Writer's Almanac

As life has recently showed me in abundance, things are always changing. We no longer have a kindergartener, but now a rising first-grader (who is not at all happy about the prospect of homework, and truth be told, neither are her parents). For now, however, she is somewhat content to maintain status as a summer camper. We were told of this nearby summer camp by some other parents, and signed B right up. It's been touch and go in terms of her happiness level, but it'll do for now.

Camp starts earlier than school does, which means I can get her and the baby off to school and daycare and get to work at a reasonable hour for a change. I have been single parenting in recent days with A off doing Army stuff, so that has meant setting the alarm for early, and not going back to sleep for another half hour after it rings.

In these early morning hours, I have luckily rediscovered a special treat. I had long since forgotten that Garrison Keillor hosts ''The Writer's Almanac'' on weekday mornings on NPR. It's only five or so minutes, but hearing his voice, calm and soothing, a warm latte in hand while sailing on a still lake, is exactly what I ache for.

I have spent a lot of time processing in the last few months. I feel as though I have learned so much...about the world, about myself, about life. For now, I am taking away three lessons: be good to myself as deeply and frequently as possible; be good to others and love them hard and fiercely; and, don't wait, just do it now.  When I listen to Garrison Keillor every morning, I am being good to myself. As much as I adore his ''A Prairie Home Companion'' on Saturday evenings (it's truly one of my favorite things), hearing him in the morning is a kind of soul food I wouldnt have known I needed until I found it.

Don't wait. Keillor is in his 70s now, and despite my being a fan for close to two decades, I have never gone to one of his live shows. I realize now that I can't put it off for later, assuming I will make time to go someday. Someday must be now. We don't know how much time we have left. Don't wait. Do it now.

These days, I go to bed early, knowing I have an early wake-up ahead. But I don't mind as much now, because I have a friend to look forward to sailing with.


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