In Praise of Slowness

I'm a go! go! go! do! do! do! cram-all-I-can-into-a-day sorta girl.  It's not enough to make Salted Caramel Crack for my cousin's visit...no, I'm already scheming about how in the world am I going to run to the grocery store for heavy cream before she gets here...at 8:45 tomorrow morning!  And did I mention that I have four kiddies to breakfast?...and get dressed?...and..and...and...

But still, I must get that cream! (for homemade Triple Berry Ice Cream--God bless whoever invented the Cuisinart 20-Minute Ice Cream Maker--that, my friends, is for another entire post.) 

Despite my brain working overtime, trying to solve this ever-so-important dilemma, there is a consciousness somewhere, of a lesson that I am learning ever-so-gradually over the course of this summer.

Life is better lived in the s...l...o...w...  l...a...n...e...

I'm beginning to really believe that it's true.  I'm learning, slowly but surely, that when I just take the time to slow down, I enjoy life so much the more.  Someone once said, "Focus on the journey, not the destination.  Joy is found not in finishing an activity but in doing it."  You know, he really had the right idea.

There's always a little thrill that runs through me when I hang my laundry out on the clothesline.  I know...pitiful, isn't it?  I recently started collecting vintage linens...and everyone knows you just can't throw them in the dryer.  You can't!  They scream at you!  They beg to be dried in the warm summer breeze...the sun crisping them up perfectly.  This wonderful process, of course, takes time.  It's not as fast as my Maytag downstairs...but then again, going down and staring at my humming Maytag doesn't give me the same joy as brightly-colored floral sheets snapping in the wind.

This past May, we purchased our first-ever chicks.  I. am. in. love. Peeps, I'll tell ya, if you ever wanna fall head-over-heels in love with a bird, get yerself some chickens.  Truly.  I had no clue what all the hype was about...until I got some for myself.  There's just something about them.  You want to hug them and squeeze them and call their name George...unfortunately, they aren't nearly as cuddly as your lap dog...or cat...in fact, they don't really like to cuddle at all. 

There's little that I enjoy more than just sitting back for a minute...or five...and watching them pecking and scratching and doing what chickens do. I love them.  And they'll give us eggs...fresh, warm, good-for-us eggs...in October.  Yep, we have to wait a full five months, possibly more, before they give us eggs.  But more than giving me eggs, they've helped me learn patience...and they've given me an excuse to slow down...and take a few minutes out of my hectic day to just pause.

(If you look really closely, you can see all nine of my girls!)

I've also started quite a collection of vintage dishes...mostly, vintage Pyrex.  You know those "ugly" bowls that your grandma...or even great-grandma used?  The ones in all shades of green, and orange, and blue, and pink, and yellow, and even sometimes brown?  Yah...those are the ones I collect.  And I use them!  Yes, I do!  I told my hubs that I was determined not to have a collection of pretty dishes that just sit and collect dust.  We'll use them...and eventually, we'll break some of them (hopefully not my Balloon bowl...I'd have to cry...and throw a fit...and go find a new one immediately!)  But those dishes, my pretty vintage dishes, they have to be washed...hand-washed, to be exact! :::gulp:::

  Again, though, I find myself standing at the kitchen sink, staring out into my backyard...the backyard I always dreamed of having...and I'm so thankful for my full life...and for my children...and for my husband...and for all His blessings...

...and I'm thankful for the little things...the things that take me by the hand and sit me down in the old crackling glider...the things that make me stop for a minute to catch my breath...the things that slow...me...down.