“Today was a good day,” I thought, trailing behind Dave in the dim light as he pulled a fully loaded Gorilla cart stacked high with freshly cut wood. My three-quarter-length, new-to-me Banana Republic pants—black and white striped and a sweet $4.99 find at Goodwill—swished with each step. Their thrifted glory felt extra satisfying.
At the bottom of the eight-step brick walkway leading to our covered back patio, the cart stopped. Evelyn clutched a small piece of bark and limb like a treasure while Dave and I loaded our arms with four or five logs each to restock the pile.
“Be careful, I’m a woman,” Evelyn declared, her tiny voice laced with unexpected seriousness as she stood beside me, carefully placing her piece onto the stack. I blinked, caught off guard. Where she picked that up, I had no idea. A moment later, as I passed Dave on my way back down the steps, I couldn’t help sharing, “Do you know what Evelyn just said?”
This is the same “woman” who just today wore her Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles costume—Rafael, of course—complete with sai weapons tucked securely into her belt. She even whispered in the overly perfumed section of Dillard’s, “Do you think they think I’m real?”
Once Evelyn goes to bed, I linger. In the bathtub heat, under a blanket on the couch, or stretched out in the bedroom, I let time melt away like warm gum. An hour, maybe even two, slips away like the peeling skin of a sunburned Minnesotan thawing out in Florida.
I’ve been toying with the idea of making my “me time” more structured—tightening it up, metaphorically cinching in the extra fluff. It sounds good in theory, but I know myself. I’ll plan something detailed and inspired, only to keep lingering, no matter how airtight the plan seems. I do this a lot: great ideas, solid intentions, but follow-through? Spotty at best.
Still, I managed to finish my book club’s Circe earlier, which felt like a win. And we restocked the woodpile, so today wasn’t unproductive. What’s so bad about lingering, anyway?
The problem, I think, is that it eats into the quality time I want to spend on things that matter—writing, studying Spanish. If I could figure out how to balance the indulgence of lingering with being productive, maybe I wouldn’t feel this pull to fix it. I’m going to try structuring my linger time. I can linger, but a preset amount of time.
I’ll try it tomorrow. Take care.
Love,
Jaclynn
Going On 40 