In the second instance, I had emailed my friend Laure an image of some sketchbook pages I loved, expressing a desire to have my sketchbook resemble them. We emailed back and forth about developing artistic style, and I finished one email with, “I’m lucky to have some lovely artists to be influenced by, aren’t I?” While I’m still learning the basics of drawing and painting, let alone working on my “style,” between the support and encouragement of my friends (my classmates in Laure’s classes as well as Laure herself) and the wealth of material available in books and online, I have the ability to enjoy and learn from many different artists. I can’t help but be inspired. This may seem like an insignificant matter to feel lucky about—but isn’t life made up of “insignificant matters”?

Coincidentally, we have a new resident at our barn, a tiny, elderly pony whose name is Lucky. Poor Lucky was essentially starving to death because his previous owners (well-meaning but ignorant) didn’t realize the condition of his teeth made it impossible for him to eat normally—his food needs to be soaked into soupiness. Aside from his thinness and the neglect of his hooves and coat, he seems healthy.  He’s lucky to have been found by caring people who hope to help him, and a vet who is willing to take on some of his care without compensation. With any luck, he’ll live out his life in comfort, being spoiled by the girls (and the adults) at the barn.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that feeling lucky is to some degree a matter of perspective, acknowledging the negatives but choosing to focus more on the positives. It’s part of my “Catching Happiness” philosophy, when I remember to live by it.

What makes you feel lucky?

“There are few things more sacred than the moment you come to peace with your pieces.”

After “sharing” home office space with my husband for three years (translation: I had a desk in there but I was rarely at it because our working styles were not compatible), he moved to his new office in our unused formal living room last week. I’ve spent much of the past few days cleaning and organizing my space and collecting my things from where they were scattered throughout the house. I’ve still got some organizing to do, but at least I know everything is here (somewhere) and I again have a door I can close when I need to.

I took the day yesterday to relieve my horse of his winter coat. (Click here to see what that entails.) Yes, even though it’s still near 90 degrees and humid, Tank was sporting his usual premature wooliness. I’m not quite finished—I have three legs left and some tidying—but he’s much more comfortable. Since he’s now shorn, that means it’s likely a cold front will come through and drop the temps. (Bring it on! I have a horse blanket.)

I expect to have a more “normal” schedule in the next week or so and will get back to more regular posting soon.

So what’s new with you?

Much of the poetry that has endured the longest is about the relentless movement of time, and in ways all art is about just that. Here’s a landscape in which time is at work, by Geraldine Connolly, who lives in Montana. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

Flathead Lake, October

The eagle floats and glides,

circling the burnished aspen,

then takes the high pines

with a flash of underwing.

As surely as the eagle sails

toward the bay’s open curve,

as surely as he swoops and seizes

the struggling fish, pulling

it from an osprey’s beak;

so too, autumn descends,

to steal the glistening

summer from our open hands.

That’s what I feel like I’m doing. Anyone else? Is it just me, or does life seem unaccountably, almost unbearably busy lately? I feel frantic! I have no down time between activities. I’m distracted—more so than normal. I shudder to think what the holidays will be like when I feel like this in September.

Since reading World Enough and Time, I’ve become more aware of time and my use of it, even going so far as to keep a time log a couple of weeks ago. Maybe it’s because I’m more aware that it seems like life has sped up?

From keeping the time log, I learned that I multi-task A LOT, and I do a lot of small tasks that add up to big chunks of time. I had to use a pen with an extra fine tip in order to fit all I did into the half hour boxes of the time log! Even if I was working out on the elliptical machine, I was also reading a magazine. If we had the TV on, I was cooking or cleaning the kitchen, balancing the checkbook or folding laundry. The only time I had large stretches of time doing one thing was when I went to the barn, and that’s because I didn’t record each individual thing I did while I was there.

No wonder I’m so tired by the end of the day. I really do cram a lot of little tasks into my days, often doing them one right after another. Since I can’t really point to any major accomplishment, except maybe keeping our lives running, I never get a feeling of satisfaction and accomplishment from what I do. So many things I do “disappear”—they must be done again, and again (and again). They’re not even noticed by anyone unless I stop doing them.

Is this a problem? Maybe. If I’m running around filling my days with the little details, I never have to face my fears—the fear that I won’t have anything to say when I sit in front of a blank page, or the fear that if I stopped “doing,” my worth as a human being would plummet. I want to be a contributor in life, not just a taker, but the way in which I’m going about it now is not sustainable.

I don’t want to live like this anymore. I’m stepping back and calling a halt, starting with a day off tomorrow. I’m going to look at my current schedule and activities and ask:

*Does this need doing?

*Do I need to do it?

*Can it be done less frequently?

*Can someone help me with this so it will go quicker?

It’s a start. Maybe then I’ll be able to get my head above water.

Do you have any tips on controlling your schedule and commitments you can share?

“Am I going to change the world, or am I going to change me? Or maybe change the world a little bit, just by changing me?”

Some of the things we did:

I began putting out fall decorations, with this little set of votive candles I just bought. Everything else is in the attic…time to send someone up there to bring the boxes down.

We cleaned our potting bench. My husband has taken up vegetable gardening, so we now share the bench which I had let get into quite a state:

Better:

I cleaned and refilled the bird bath and squirrel bird feeders:

I found a little friend keeping the orchids bug free:

Scout enjoyed the warmth of the sun:

We admired growing things:

There was also a little laundry, a little horse time, a little online puttering (Pinterest, A Bowl Full of Lemons, Blacksburg Belle and more), a little vacuuming, some sports on TV and, of course, some reading.

I'm at my happiest when I'm savoring these little moments, small accomplishments and simple pleasures. I’m grateful I had the time to slow down and enjoy them.

What did you do this weekend?

A happy little surprise, and the simplest of simple pleasures. 

What was your happy surprise today?

Jane Hirshfield, who lives in the San Francisco Bay area, is one of our country’s finest poets, and I have never seen a poem of hers that I didn’t admire. Here’s a fine one that I see as being about our inability to control the world beyond us. [Introduction by Ted Kooser.]

The Promise

Stay, I said

to the cut flowers.

They bowed

their heads lower.

Stay, I said to the spider,

who fled.

Stay, leaf.

It reddened,

embarrassed for me and itself.

Stay, I said to my body.

It sat as a dog does,

obedient for a moment,

soon starting to tremble.

Stay, to the earth

of riverine valley meadows,

of fossiled escarpments,

of limestone and sandstone.

It looked back

with a changing expression, in silence.

Stay, I said to my loves.

Each answered,

Always.

American Life in Poetry is made possible by The Poetry Foundation www.poetryfoundation.org), publisher of Poetry magazine. It is also supported by the Department of English at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln. Poem copyright ©2011 by Jane Hirshfield, from her most recent book of poems, Come, Thief, Alfred A. Knopf, 2011. Poem reprinted by permission of Jane Hirshfield and the publisher. Introduction copyright © 2012 by The Poetry Foundation. The introduction's author, Ted Kooser, served as United States Poet Laureate Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 2004-2006.

Since choosing “passion” as my word of the year, I’ve felt peculiarly passion-less. Ho hum. Frustrated and overwhelmed, yes. Lazy, yup. Motivated to pursue my passions? Uh, not really. What’s wrong with me?

Apparently, just choosing passion as a watchword doesn’t do it for me. I actually have to think about passion and do something to ignite it. In pondering this subject, I’ve found a few ways to reignite my flickering pilot light—maybe you’d be interested in hearing about what I’ve learned?

Perhaps the simplest trick is to set myself a specific and achievable goal. My horse, Tank, is one of my passions, but this time of year because of the heat and humidity, I find it more and more difficult to get myself down to the barn. When I’m there, I often choose not to do anything with him, but groom him and let him graze. Despite the whole “I can’t believe I have a horse” thing, I get just the tiniest bit bored, and we don’t really make any progress as a team. Hanging out is fine, but there are many things I’d like to learn—like trick or agility training, and how to do equine massage—and I want to keep up with our Parelli Natural Horsemanship games. While it’s still hot, I usually go to the barn about three times a week. One of those days, we’ll probably just continue to hang out, but I plan to have a goal, even if it’s a small one, for the other two days.

 Usually, I resist adding things to my schedule. I don’t like the feeling of being too busy, too scattered, pulled in 100 different directions. But I’ve noticed that sometimes if I’m feeling blasé, it’s because I’m not experiencing anything new—I’m stuck in a rut of same old, same old. Adding something fun, different, exciting can be just the spark that ignites a new passion, or reignites an old one. Right now, I’m taking one of Laure Ferlita’s terrific online classes. For a modest time investment, I’m having a ball revisiting San Francisco through the pages of my sketchbook.

Sure, you say. Adding something sounds great but how can I pack one more thing into my full schedule? To make room, I take something away. Don’t tell anyone, but my favorite thing to get rid of is household chores—I skip dusting, or order dinner instead of cooking it. I don’t shop or go to the library as often as usual. I also reduce my TV watching in favor of more enriching activities.

During the Summer Olympics, I watched hours of equestrian events on TV. I got excited watching those experts and their spectacular horses, and I took that excitement with me to the barn. Whatever your chosen passion, search out someone who’s really good at your shared passion. Don’t compare yourself or become discouraged because you’re not as good—be inspired by her or his accomplishments. I’ll never be an Olympic equestrian, but I can be a better rider and partner to Tank.

Once a month, I take a day off. I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. I don’t clean, cook, do laundry, run errands. I write only if I feel like it. (I always read!) Sometimes I go see Tank, and sometimes I hang out at home all day. I try not to get sucked into mindless web surfing, but if that’s what I feel like doing, I let myself. It takes a bit of life arrangement to do this, but surprisingly, I find that after just one day in which I don’t let myself work, I come back to the usual routine with lots more energy and passion.

None of these tips is revolutionary in any way, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy to implement them. Many days, especially during the hot summer months, all I want to do is flop on the couch and watch a movie, or curl up someplace cool with a book. It takes effort to pursue passions—but if I put in that effort, that little spark of passion burns up into a steady flame. My goal is to look back on a passionate life lived—not realize I wasted too much of my time on the trivial.

What are your tips or tricks for staying interested in your passions?

—Elisabeth Kubler-Ross

Even the title has a certain timeless feel to it.

I first read about the book World Enough & Time, by Christian McEwan, on Susan J. Tweit’s blog, and I ordered it at once. The subtitle, “On creativity and slowing down,” coupled with Tweit’s review of the book proved irresistible.

Amazon.com’s description says, “According to McEwen, the nonstop emphasis on productivity that is so prevalent in our society is counterproductive for anyone wanting to be creative”—something I wholeheartedly agree with. My default speed is slow. I spent a lot of time alone as a child, and though I was occasionally lonely, I mostly enjoyed the solitude and freedom to do and think as I chose. Spending afternoons in my room, listening to music, daydreaming, writing in my journal or reading formed my personality. As I have grown up and gone from child to parent, from student to worker, I’ve lost nearly all of that unscheduled, dreamy time and I want it back. I hate the speed of 21^st century life, and the common assumption that busy is better and packed schedules equal fulfilling lives. McEwen encourages us to allow ourselves to slow down and pay attention.

This really excellent book deserves a slow and thoughtful read. McEwan has pondered long on her subject matter, and draws on a wide range of sources to flesh out her points, quoting writers, philosophers, artists, musicians, psychologists and others. Some reasons I liked World Enough & Time:

It reinforces something I believe in: slowing down is good for us, not just as a tool for creativity but also a way to heal troubled minds and hearts.

The way the book is written encourages you to slow down—not that it’s difficult to read, but that each page holds so much to digest. Before each new chapter is a title page with a single quote so that there is a sort of pause before you go on to new material. Each chapter ends with a couple of simple suggested activities and more quotes to ponder.

The writing is beautiful, with evocative chapter titles like “The Art of Looking,” “A Feast of Words,” “The Space Between” and “A Day So Happy.”

Here is one of my favorite passages from the book:

“Computer ‘memory’ is literal and predictable; it does not alter over time. Human memory is considerably more fluid. We need time to muse and dream, to mull, to ruminate, to sort through our own insights and associations. In the words of the philosopher William James, ‘The connecting is the thinking.’ Without space for that free-floating receptivity, short-term (or primary) memory is not transformed into the long-term (or secondary) kind. Our memories are not consolidated. We mislay the tiny details of our lived experience, the originality and satisfaction of our own opinions.” In other words, without time to process our lives, we forget them. I’ve often felt like an oddball because of my need for quiet time every day just to sit and think or daydream, letting my mind roam where it wants to go. I feel better about that need, now that I know it’s essential for realizing a fully-lived life.

World Enough & Time is not just a book for “creatives”—artists, writers, musicians, etc. It’s a book for anyone interested in stepping out of the mad rush of the world to live at his or her own pace.  I plan to keep it out where I can reread it more slowly (yes, I quickly read a book on slowing down!) and internalize its ideas.

How do you slow down the pace of life?

I love the images in this poem by Carol Light, of Washington state.

Prairie Sure

Would I miss the way a breeze dimples

the butter-colored curtains on Sunday mornings,

or nights gnashed by cicadas and thunderstorms?

The leaning gossip, the half-alive ripple

of sunflowers, sagging eternities of corn 

and sorghum, September preaching yellow, yellow

in all directions, the windowsills swelling

with Mason jars, the blue sky bluest borne

through tinted glass above the milled grains?

The dust, the heat, distrusted, the screen door

slapping as the slat-backed porch swing sighs,

the hatch of houseflies, the furlongs of freight trains,

and how they sing this routine, so sure, so sure—

the rote grace of every tempered life?

Last night I spent some sweet hours looking through our family photos. All those trips to the park and the beach and the zoo, all those family get-togethers and vacations. (All those regrettable wardrobe choices as well as fluctuating weights and hair lengths…) How nice that only the good times live in our photos and I do not have visual reminders of the blown-out diapers, the sleepless nights, the battles over food and chores and homework (though, clearly, I remember them).

I didn’t find being a mother to be particularly easy or “natural.” The first year of our son Nick’s life was pretty hard on me. I went from working full time in our insurance agency with my husband to staying home full time with an infant who did not sleep well and wouldn’t take a bottle even of breast milk. My in-laws, who lived nearby, worked full time. My mom and stepmom in California also worked full time. We hadn’t been in Florida that long so I didn’t have a circle of friends to rely on for support, advice and commiseration. My closest friend had a three-month-old and lived more than an hour away. Nick was delivered by C-section, and just when I began to recover from that, I began having gall bladder attacks and had to have that organ removed when Nick was four months old. My husband, who was now running the agency without me, spent most of his time at the office and even when he was at home, he was emotionally drained. An organization called FEMALE (Formerly Employed Mothers at the Leading Edge), now known as Mothers & More, came to my rescue with chapter meetings (without kids) playgroups, outings with kids and mom’s night out activities. I met two of my closest friends through this group and we are still friends, all these years later (one of them is the Mary who took me to the winery a couple of weeks ago).

Despite that rough start, we eventually worked our way into being a family. And I have photographic proof that we’ve had a pretty good life. I’d like to share a few of the photos I found last night. The first was taken shortly after Nick was born:

This is one of my all-time favorite photos. I was finally through that horrible, hard first year, and Nick and I had forged a close bond.

This photo captures one of my happiest memories. Nick had been given a child’s camera that took photos with 35mm film. One afternoon, we both took our cameras out on our nature trail to take pictures of what interested us. (Note the manly work boots and the walking stick.) I did have his photos developed, and I wonder if he has any of them still?

You’ve seen many photos of Scout on this blog. Here’s the first one I ever took of her. We always tell people that Scout chose Nick. My husband and I had chosen a puppy other than Scout from the litter, but when we came to take our chosen puppy home, this little black and white puppy would not stop following Nick around. He already liked her best from our first visit, so we changed our minds and took the black and white one home instead. Later, when we were going through photos of our first visit to see the puppies, we found this:

Most of the other puppies are doing their own thing, while Scout is licking Nick’s face.

The adage “The days are long but the years are short” most certainly applies to children. Nick’s gone from blocks and Legos, to Xbox and Facebook. He’s 6’1” and I couldn’t rock him in my arms if I wanted to. We’re looking at colleges and talking about professions instead of checking out preschools. But he’s still my baby, and always will be.

“Only one hour of the normal day is more pleasurable than the hour spent in bed with a book before going to sleep and that is the hour spent in bed with a book after being called in the morning.”

–Rose Macaulay

How lucky are we? Tropical Storm Isaac skirted farther to the west than we expected, and all we got was some rain (and a tornado watch). No school, no trash pickup, and government offices closed today. There could be some flooding of a river near us, but other than flooded roads we’ve been lucky. Again.

We prepared well for this storm—topping off our gas tanks, taking some cash out of the bank, making sure our hurricane food and water supplies were adequate, charging up the electronics and phones. I even went to the library to pick up two books on hold for me (wouldn’t want to run out of reading material, would I? Not that there’s the remotest chance of that). Last night, the worst of the storm looked likely to pass by us, so we didn’t have to bring in all our potted plants and patio furniture. Our preparations took on sort of the opposite of “If you build it, they will come” thinking—more like “If you prepare, the storm will pass you by.”  

Storms come to us all—both the physical and the emotional. With a hurricane or a tropical storm, you usually have plenty of warning. Not so for an earthquake, which I experienced several times growing up in California. There’s not a lot you can do, except try to be prepared for the inevitable. Store up food and water, fill your gas tank, fill your emotional well. And be grateful when all is calm.

A moment ago, I saw the sun peek out for the first time today. It’s gone again, but it reminded me that storms pass. And sometimes they’re not as bad as we expect.

It looks like Isaac will strengthen into a hurricane, and make landfall late Tuesday or early Wednesday somewhere on the Gulf Coast. My thoughts are with the people in the Gulf states—I hope they weather this storm safely. 

How do you prepare for storms—physical or emotional?

Did you know that domestic horses need regular dental check ups? A combination of factors, including how a horse chews his food and the way a horse’s teeth continue to erupt through the gum during his lifetime, can create sharp edges or hooks that can actually cut his cheeks and tongue, affecting his eating and making it painful to be ridden with a bit in his mouth. Properly cared for teeth help the horse chew feed more effectively—he won’t drop as much, and there won’t be a build-up of improperly chewed food in his stomach that could cause impaction colic. Veterinarians often perform horse dental work, and there are also specialized equine dentists. They generally recommend dental check ups every six months to a year, depending on the horse’s needs.

When a vet or equine dentist takes off those sharp edges with a file, it’s called “floating” the teeth. This used to be done with a hand tool that looks like a large file (called a “float”), but many vets and equine dentists now use a power file with a diamond head—much easier on both vet and horse. The vet or equine dentist also inspects the mouth, teeth and gums for any abnormalities such as an abscess, broken or cracked teeth or even gum disease! Horses can also get cavities and need to have teeth pulled, just like humans. (As far as I know, brushing a horse’s teeth is not a common practice, however!)

As you might expect, horses do not generally like to have their mouths held open while a buzzing electric drill files down their molars. To float a horse’s teeth, he must be sedated. The vet/dentist uses a special halter and mouth speculum that holds the horse’s head up and his mouth open.

Last week, we had a visit from Advanced Equine Dentistry.  Dr. Jay Clifford is a vet, and Richard Grist, CEqD is an equine dentist.  They’re both very nice and easy to work with, so we always like seeing them. Tank is a good patient and is on a maintenance program, so it takes less than a half hour for him to board the rig, be sedated, have his teeth floated and be back out and waking up. (He always looks a little pathetic as the sedation wears off.) After an hour or so, I let him graze a bit before he goes back out with his buddies.

So that’s your horse care lesson for the week, and Tank’s everyday adventure. Oh, and he got a clean bill of dental health!