May

I have to quietly type this as there is a sleeping boy next to me. I've been thinking about time. There are seasons of life where I think you have to be unselfish (there's got to be another word for that), more unselfish than others. I am at that time in my life. There are things I am really interested in doing - calligraphy for one, more quilts, gardening, and whatnot. Right now I'm not able to do everything on my wishlist, there simply isn't enough time for myself. I do squeeze in a 20 minute workout each day (since my birthday!), and I do manage to read during his naptime - Bible study, maybe fold clothes, tidy up small spaces, and a general recharge for myself. (Immune disorders that keep me from functioning at full capacity all the time - I honestly must rest).

We are also in the process of nursing the family patriarch, who is, I'm sad to say, slowly declining.  At 96 he's lived a full-life and I've been apart of that life for the last 10 years. I often recall to him times when I would visit the husband before we wed and he would ask me to take him out to lunch, every day, and that no matter how many times we told him no, he always fed the dogs. Always. Again, time.

I believe that eternity will be an amazing place and I know that I will be there, but the challenge of getting there is what really frightens me. What road will I have to suffer? I already to take on so much with an anxious mind, I pray it would not be too much. I'm not sure if it's turning 30, having what I would call a mini-breakdown or whatever it is that has me thinking so much about time.

In happier news I've finally begun sewing once more with a happy heart. Going slowly, reminding myself to enjoy the process. I have a hard time doing that in general.  I'm aiming to complete the Christmas quilt from last year for a June birthday gift.

We've settled into a lovely pattern at home, grass is sprouting, trees have been planted. My husband cleverly purchased dogwoods for our "wooden" anniversary.