without wheels

Literally, I am without wheels this morning, having spent all day yesterday waiting for a complete new brake job to be done on my car. But, yadda, yadda, yadda, it didn't happen and so I hope to get picked up later today by the "courtesy car" and get back on the road for my day.

But, metaphorically, I feel like I am without wheels, also. External, slow moving continues on foot, but the "rollin' rhythm" that is the essence of a wheel-driven life is absent. I spent most of my time in a chair yesterday--first at the dealership, then at a cafe and I put it to some good use by working on business elements of my two enterprises. I left my "morning pages" journal in the car, not anticipating that I would be without the journal this morning and I do feel the difference of not doing the Julia Cameron-inspired writing exercise, by hand, that she encourages creatives to do. When I started writing the pages last week, it was with a commitment to see if the timing was right for that practice and I think I found that it is helping me clean out the mental clutter as I start the day.

It's amazing how much clutter is in my mind as I just start my day. All the unresolved issues of the day before, maybe even dusty remnants of dreams, come to the surface and need to be aired "in the light of day" (a literal,and over-used phrase but it is apt in this case).

Just from one day, bits of work issues, the reality of my father-in-law's health decline (his sprained knee is still the size of a melon and the color of a plum) and he has gone from a pig-headed (his description of himself last night) 88 year old, insisting he can drive 15 miles for a Sonoran hot dog, to bedridden, waiting for his new caregiver to give him a bath. Then there is my own dad, pretty sharp at 92 and adjusted to using a walker to get up and down his hall, around the complex once a day--huffing and puffing a bit to get to the phone--ten steps from his chair.

I couldn't lose myself in "Star Trek" before bed because, for the last two nights, the opening scenes have characters that scare me: one night, it is Counselor Troi, waking up in the body and face of a Romulan and then, last night, at some kind of Deep Space Nine Convention, Whorf is approached by a creature whose face looks like a pucker-mouthed hairless and skinless human. Yikes! And, so I woke several times in uncomfortable bed positions, stirred by my husband's fitful twisting and snoring.

Here I am then, looking at the birds, gaily fluttering with bread I put out last night after the three hour rain. I want some of what they have this morning: gaity. And if not gaity, then some measure of Buddha-like acceptance that this is my day and I can make it joyful or gloomy, if I first accept that this is where I am right now.

And writing helps me do that: say, hello Anita, just be with yourself and then move--by foot or by wheels.

How are you moving today?