Written a week ago: Sunday August 15
Yesterday was Sunday and a very quiet day. One phone call, I think, and I didn't leave the house, except to work in the yard. One person stopped by briefly and I wandered up to his car, picking my barefoot way over the stones, to check on another foolish friend who just nearly killed himself riding a motorcycle too fast. Other than that I wrote some stuff on Kenya someone had asked me for, posted a blog, pulled weeds, rearranged my watering system, took pictures, read old New Yorkers, tried to watch some shitty TV, and continued to brush away cob webs, both inside and out.
I got home four days ago and have been getting used to the pace and also the space ever since. I came home full of ideas and plans of things to dive into. But it did not work out that way. For the first two days I took care of emergency business, knocked down cob webs fom my bedroom door and my favorite chair, the bathroom mirror, and my big blue coffee cup: I pulled grass from between the California Poppies and the green beans (which will be ready in about a week.) Interestingly, there were no signs of mice. Is this because it is summer, or is my old friend the black snake back in residence? I saw a few good friends, went to one party, exercised enthusiastically, thought about all the things I planned to do, made a few lists, read old New Yorkers, and felt uneasy about the fact that I was not busy all the time and was alone most of the time.
This is my fifth year on this whirlwind project that takes me out west from the middle of July till the middle of August. Besides the obvious pleasures of being in a beautiful place, working smoothly as part of a team, and doing interesting work, there are some underlying elements to this experience that I really enjoy. Last year I noticed how restful it was to stop reading the paper - to not follow national and international news, to stop paying attention to problems I can't solve. Local papers, which pass under my nose occasionally, are all about forest fires, rodeos, state politics, the occasional car or boating accident. Briefly, my world becomes one where I have the power to solve problems, to direct my energy and thinking to concrete ends. It is liberating and restful. This year, I realized something else that is personally very restful for me. I get to focus exclusively on one project, unlike when I am at home and usually have many projects going simultaneously. Writing this, I wonder why this is - is this a natural consequence of the kind of work life I have chosen or do I do this to myself.
Three days ago, I tore all the yellow sheets, and six week old lists of things to do, off the wall in front of my desk, and now it is blank except for a few photos, two of my own water colors, and my favorite quotes. Soon the lists will go back up. There are at least three, if not four, projects to come back to, and a final report on the work I just did, also a level of uncertainty in my life that is absent when I am out west. In theory, I know that the key to handling all this is to think about one thing at a time, take it step by step. I also know that it is also important to not think about any of it some of the time.
Written yesterday: Sunday August 23 (scribbled on a yellow pad that I keep on my desk next to the computer)
"I feel like a muddy pond + the water is slowly settling, clearing. I can dimly see the shape of........... is this how it works?"
Underneath I wrote..."quiet, time to settle - can't keep stirring, quiet." Then a list: Kenya, parents, final report, people I need to talk to, my writing."
So, I woke up yesterday morning with this image of a pond in my head; and as I exercise, clean up the garden, put papers away, reclai my space indoors and out, and work the final report, this blog, and other projects, the shapes of next steps are slowly emerging. It is so hard to remember that this will happen when I am in the transition state from one project to the next, when I am picking up the pieces. I berate myself - why don't I always of a claer picture of the path, why am I at age 64 (I almost wrote 63) still finding the pond cloudy?
Written this morning: Monday August 24
Now it is Monday morning and I am back at my desk, looking up at the white wall which is slowly filling with papers, an outline of the final report, three sheets with diagrams (pictures) of projects. I start my day. Perhaps, the most interesting thing that happened in the last week is that I finished examining and entering onto a spread sheet the over 150 two page assessments that we filled out for children who played games repeatedly in the orchards, and I realized how much information we now have on these children. This method of assessment, using observation only (no testing), has evolved over the last five years and I think it is a good one. Reading many of these, I can see exactly where the child is at in her math thinking, attention, ability to work with numbers, problem solving, where the holes are, what should happen next. Each one was like a portrait of a child - it was coherent and informative, and in fact much more complete and useful than any test score, I have ever seen. Parents could use this information.
