Thursday already, not Wednesday

Here it is Thursday of another week and not Wednesday, this after I’d promised myself that I would write my Chronicles posts on Wednesdays. But I wasn’t campaigning so maybe it’s okay if the promise stretches a bit and the weeks between as well. If the promise gets broken, that is. My excuse is there’s not much new in the older department, besides my being further along. Otherwise, older on Thursday is the same as older on Wednesday.

Presently I’m gearing up for full-on Author mode and trying to be as energetic as possible. In about a week and a half H. and I will set out on a road trip to Winnipeg, for the first launch of my book, All That Belongs, on October 5. (More about the book and the past year’s writing¬†here.) On the way home we’ll stop in Saskatoon and Calgary and hopefully the small town in Alberta where I grew up.

I’m quite excited about the trip, especially crossing the plains again and seeing family and friends. The days leading up to it have been stressful with details, however, as well as several other challenges. Last night I put myself to sleep by recollecting times we got through and there were quite a number of them, so this was a comfort and encouragement.

I do have one wee worry about the upcoming book events that’s age-related. I’ll be meeting people I know well but am afraid that in the excitement of it all I’ll forget their name when it comes to signing their copy. I suppose the best solution will be to confess the fear before the signing begins so if I look utterly blank, they’ll laugh and help me out!


Pajamas day

After a week like the last — with our Toronto children and grandchildren here, and thus the entire family together (the others are local) — I felt the need for a pajamas day, or half of one at least. By which I mean more or less doing nothing. On a pajamas day, I may or may not actually be in my pajamas — it’s more a state of mind and body: rest mode and absolutely not beginning Next Tasks. I was tired. Surprisingly tired. Realizing again I’m older than I used to be. My husband was tired too. Even though it was our anniversary when the week ended, we told ourselves we’d celebrated all week and could easily stay home and be quietly happy that we’d managed 45 years. We sank into that satisfying tiredness that follows days of steady going and going and giving and getting. The energy had been there, adequate for all the week’s occasions, but once done, only pleasant ache remained.

I needed time too to sit a while in gratitude. It was such a good week.

I noticed something in this gathering. The adult children were in charge. We two olders had been slotted into their care as well. Sure, we did some meals and hosting and planning, but these were moves in a larger game others were running. It wasn’t uncomfortable either, but I felt the shift: being sort of central still as “heads” of this particular family but practically speaking, de-centralized and free to not be responsible. Free to submit to their competence. I remember this transition happening in my own family of origin, as my siblings and I matter-of-factly took over from Mom and Dad. Now it’s our turn in that position, and unexpectedly, it’s fine.