About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Friday, June 03, 2011

So, that temple thing? It works.

Just knowing that I was going to spend the evening in the temple, got me through the day. The portion of scriptures to which I listened on the drive into work, was precisely what I needed to hear yesterday [funny how that works], although yes, it brought me to tears and kept me there for several miles.

Work per se was one small task after another checked off the list, adding up to half as many tapes still in the inbox or To-Do’s online.

I remembered to grab the cash to pay for the birthday cake. I leave in half an hour to do that. There is a sticky-note on the front door and another on the mirror in the bathroom.

Belt *and* suspenders, as my attorney would say.

When I woke up this morning, I carefully picked out all the binding-off I have done over the past couple of days and started over. Twice. Logic tells me that the way I was doing it should have the same effect as the bind-off as written, so first I tried it with the next size larger needle, and it was too sloppy (the previous attempt, with a purled adaptation of the Russian bind-off, had become crazily loosey-goosey and was exceedingly awkward to work).

I think the problem with my first try at the bind-off as written, was the tension in my neck and shoulders. I did a whole lot of slow and steady neck rolls while memorizing ordinances in the temple last night. I was in a spot where nobody could see me, but my trainer knew how to find me, so I was not entertaining or distracting anybody.

You know? Most people wake up feeling really relaxed in the morning. Nice, loose muscles. I wake up feeling like me: i.e., on Red Alert. Stiff neck. Tense shoulders. You know those pictures of prairie dogs sitting up impossibly straight, looking for danger? That would be me. It’s not as if I am perpetually afraid. I’m not. I’ve dealt with enough stuff over the course of six decades (!) that I know I can handle anything with Heaven’s assistance. And it’s not that I am a pessimist; I am chronically optimistic, to the point where I tend to schedule more tasks in a given time frame than any human could possibly manage.

I am just incredibly, irrepressibly, *alert*. I’ve made it a matter of prayer: what do I need to do, in order for my body to relax? I tried to remember if I was relaxed when I was married to the children’s father, and no I was not. I was either scared [financially, not personally] or depressed. I was frequently exhausted.

I wonder if this is part of the burden and blessing of being of the tribe of Ephraim? We are charged with helping to prepare the world for the Second Coming. Sometimes I want to beat people about the head and shoulders with a Book of Mormon, and I wish that sense of responsibility would kick over into a desire to do the family history research I know I should be doing, but meh.

In the meantime, I will put on my shoes and grab my bag and go get that cake. I may not be able to save the world, but I can feed them.

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