The last two weeks have somehow been far busier than I hoped or planned - I've been losing track of my schedule and forgetting obligations, I fear leaving a trail of let-down colleagues in the process. My calendar isn't that full, but somehow with the lack of school schedule, I just can't keep track of it all.
Meanwhile, though, I've watching the crazy-rich blooming in our yard. I can hardly count the little bees on our spirea and sundrops, and by the time we get back from vacation, the oregano will be in full bloom, attracting all the pollinators who will have, by then, finished up with the current wave of blooms.
They're almost biblical, not sowing, but reaping, thriving, and working constantly nonetheless. If they fail to pollinate it is because we've poisoned them, not because they got scheduled somewhere else nor because they woke up and forgot to check their calendars. They do one thing, and do it well. Their mindfulness which reminds me of how Laurel's Kitchen's authors recommend that we knead bread, or cook, or garden, or whatever it is that calls us at the moment. It reminds me of times when I used cookbooks as reading material, not as emergency instructions to stave off the hunger looming at our family like a Wild Thing.
My mind at this time of year is scattered. But perhaps after some rest, some play, a break from cell phones, when I come back I might be able to focus better. On July 13, I'm helping lead a hike in South Park (no relation to the cartoon), part of a series of hikes called the Interconnectedness Series. I'm looking forward to it. At the moment, it is just something on my calendar, but my hope is that by mid-July, each day will have its tasks, and I'll be ready to do my own work again, whatever it is at that moment.