Life spun out of control. Even though I am largely retired and working on average 14-15 hours per week, the wheels fell off. Spectacularly. I mean, there were wheels rolling down the streets in opposite directions, wheels going flat and wheels running off the road into the tall grass on a deserted southern road where there could be rattlesnakes lurking.
Alright, maybe not that bad. I do have a vivid imagination.
Still, they did fall off and the situation isn’t totally rectified… yet.
Here’s what happened. First, work got busy, which is a very good thing financially. Then, we rolled from Fourth of July weekend into the family ping pong tournament into a very fast trip to South Carolina for a family reunion. The impact? Not nearly enough time. I’m more than a day late and a dollar short around here. The culmination of which was when my littlest guy lost his collar.
Normally, cat collars are not a big thing particularly when the cat is largely an indoor cat and only goes outside on a harness. But for our cats, the collar holds the key to their happiness: the RFID tag that opens their feeders. So, losing a collar around here is a pretty big deal. Luckily, we keep spare RFID tags and collars so that we can quickly transition a spare collar/tag into a kitty’s new best friend. And genuinely, nine times out of ten, the tag is lost and found in minutes so it doesn’t have a chance to get really lost. But this time? Well, I’m not sure what he could have possibly done with it. I’ve literally searched this house exhaustively and I’m running Iris (our Iroomba) for a second time right now. She gets under everything and she didn’t find it. The only thing I can surmise is that it was lost just long enough to become a toy. And Dash has hiding spots for his toys. Eventually, on some random day, we will find his collar and marvel at how it could have ever gotten there.
But for now, the lost collar has become a symbol for me on how out of control my life is. (It’s also a wake-up call. Before we go away again, we will have to program all of the spare RFID tags to each cat and label them in case they lose a collar while we are on vacation.)
But on the life front, I seriously need to pull things back into control. I’m literally wearing one of my last two pairs of shorts (and I hesitate to share how many pairs I have but you can essentially guess that I live in shorts and t-shirts during the summer.) I need to do laundry but to do laundry, I also need to make up laundry soap. And then, there is just the routine stuff. The kitchen has its daily mess going on, Iris is cleaning the whole downstairs floor area for the second time this week and I need to figure out – again – what’s for dinner.
On top of all of this, we rescued another cat. Well, to be honest, a nearly full-grown kitten.
Yes, life is crazy and so are we. We are about to become a kitty family of five. Three was our limit and we have both agreed that since we hit five, we just can’t rescue any more. While we have a big house, a big yard and we both work from home (and I’m retired), five is likely too many. All of these guys get to stay and will get all of the love, care and nurture we can possibly provide, but we are maxed out. The next rescue – if there is one – has to go straight to the shelter.
But now, it’s time to pull my life back into control. First things first, I used the very last of my laundry soap to put my first load of the day in the washer. Once I finish this missive, I’ll mix up laundry soap (which is literally equal parts of 2 cups borax and washing soda each to 1 cup of soap flakes) to get the next load going. Iris will take care of the floors and the kitchen really only takes about 15-20 minutes to clean up. I’ll make a quick trip to the dump in the morning which will get rid of recycling and trash and we have just agreed to takeout today to avoid needing to prep dinner. (And yesterday, I mowed and trimmed the grass.) All of this will get me caught up enough to relax. And then?
I’m going to spend the remainder of today re-discovering my peace. Too busy for too long and my excitable personality notches up to an 11. The bees start buzzing and I start to lose all sense of calm and quiet. Instead, I feel overwhelmed and depressed. In years past, I honestly didn’t know how to handle it when I got overwhelmed. Ultimately, something would happen. I’d get sick, life would hit a natural point of slowing down or I’d even have a panic attack. Today? I have actually learned a little bit. I now know to hit the pause button. I likely still hit it a bit too late, but at least I know to do it.
And how do I hit pause? First, I actually commit to this missive. Writing it all out soothes me and I need it. It takes all of those bees buzzing around my head and forces them onto the page where I can objectively see how big and small they are and I can finally contain them into a much smaller area of my brain. Then, I do what I can to create a calm environment. Physical chaos is disruptive and when my eye instead can fall on a room or an area or a to-do list and note that most things are done, I’m reassured that it’s okay to calm down. I also get off of all social media, games (even the solitaire game I can play obsessively) and simply be. Not stimulating myself is key here. Lastly, as I am welcomed to do so, I do some kitty ear scratches, belly rubs, back rubs and general kitty cat affection. The unadulterated love and affection of our pets is likely the most welcoming and calming activity I can think of engaging in.
If I feel like it today, I may paint or go for a walk or read a few chapters in a much-loved book. I will turn down both the temperature and speed of life. And when we finally slide into this evening, I will be glad again. Not because I was able to keep sprinting towards the finish but instead because I walked leisurely over the line without a backpack full of emotional baggage and a timeclock that told me I had miserably failed in getting my life together.
Peace, it turns out, may be infinitely easier to find than Dash’s missing collar. Peace, I would say, is just about learning to be still long enough to finally get your own pulse under control.
The Yuppie Homesteader 