Saturday at the Ranch

Today is the first Saturday I've spent at the ranch in several weeks, and of course my to-do list is longer than the length of the day. Already I've spent several hours helping my younger kids clean their rooms; done several loads of laundry; made lunch; laid out meat for supper and baking ingredients for making dessert. Other chores clamor for my attention -- the horse paperwork stacked on the side of this desk; the mending pile that whispers to me every time I walk upstairs; the sacks of castoff clothes and toys in the basement that need to be sorted to take to the emergency closet in town.

So it is with guilt that I sit down at this computer, to attempt a few minutes of creative effort. Already my focus is diverted by the children, arguing in the bedroom next to the office. Already I hear Shawn drive the tractor through the yard and wonder how he'll react if he finds out I'm writing instead of tackling those horse papers. Already I struggle to write anything of "meaning" -- time spent at this computer should, after all, yield profundity, or at least some practical advice.

Haven't I already taken enough time for myself today? Early this morning I spent a luxurious hour in bed after Shawn had gone out and before the kids woke up, reading magazines and sipping coffee. Just before lunch, I left the kids to finish their chores, and set off tromping through crusty snow with the dogs, enjoying the simple joy of breathing air that wasn't, for once, cold enough to burn my lungs. Those minutes should be enough, the list maker in my head chastises me. There are so many projects awaiting my attention that this one, which yields no tangible benefit, should not be my focus now.

But then I stop, and remind myself of the purpose of this blog: to explore different choices for these 40 years than the ones I made in the first 40, to take my lessons from the world around me and try to achieve a level of satisfaction and authenticity that has so far eluded me.

In my first 40 years, I've been the ultimate achiever. My house has rarely been dirty; my children are well-fed and well-educated; I've managed careers, started small businesses, lost baby weight six times. I've written a book, made nine houses into homes, and managed to build a marriage that's relatively healthy. I'm proud of what I've done, but I also mourn what I haven't . . . there have been too many Saturdays filled from daylight to dark with work, too many walks not taken, too many words that floated in and out of my head before being captured on the page.

Choices are choices, and one rarely has the opportunity to make them over. I have only one last Saturday of January, 2010 -- only one non-frigid weekend between winter storms to enjoy being outside -- only one precious (sort of ) uninterrrupted hour to write and reflect on the life I've built, the one I'm now supposed to be nurturing.

Outside, the world is slower, more peaceful. One of my daughters commented about how "quiet" the ranch is today -- because it's winter, and other than the occasional coyote howl, or the sound of the feeding tractor, there isn't a lot of noise. We all need periods of dormancy, times when we don't accomplish as much on the outer plane, but we build an inner life that will carry through the clamorous, busy times to come. For me, on this last Saturday of January, now is that time.