Attentiveness and Gratitude

I have been trying to remember to be more attentive to my life in a grateful kind of way.  It is slipping though my fingers so fast, so fast . . .

Tonight between 5:45 and 6:00, I was changing from my long-Jewish-school-skirt to jeans for my own class, trying to locate a copy of a print of a Michelangelo sculpture for our presentation tonight, supervising the daughter's attempt to order a prom dress online, and begging her to try on a dress I had brought home, just in case she suddenly decided she liked my idea (slinky beaded midnight blue) better than hers (pouffy pink).  A few minutes later I was in the car, calling to tell her to go ahead and pay for overnight delivery, realizing that I had never mailed the tax returns that were still sitting on the passenger seat, and noting that the gas gauge was on Empty.

Okay, so my serenity thing wasn't working.  But here's the deal: while I was managing all of those little details, my grandmother, who used to do all of that and more (she could cook, which I can't), was probably sitting on her couch, dinner over and a long evening of nothing ahead of her, staring vacantly at the air in her apartment.

I've wished for years that we could balance things more evenly, spread the demands of our lives more proportionally across the years.  My days are so full, but I can see that they have the potential for such emptiness.

I don't have the power to trade anything.  I can't go back and grab some of those harried days with toddlers to exchange for long nights waiting for teenagers.  I can't swap a rich academic life for my grandmother's afternoon with no demands.

But I can be more aware of what I do have, knowing how fleeting it really is.  I'm even trying to notice my neighborhood. Twenty-one years of raising a family here and I take it completely for granted, but it's beautiful.  We have been fortunate to have seen our children grow up in an area in which, nearly 100 years ago, people cared about building beautiful homes and planting trees and creating parks. 

I got what I wanted -- I wanted to stay in the same home, in the same community with the same friends, while my children alternately inched and sped toward adulthood.  With the last one almost off to college, I don't need to grasp this place quite so tightly anymore.  But I do need to look at it closely, and focus a little more on what surrounds me as I dash from demand to demand.

Neighborhood House

(I walked 3 miles yesterday and 1 today.)