Mom’s taking a rare, daytime nap this afternoon. When I pulled her favorite green blanket up for her, I told her I’d be outside in my swing. I tuned her stereo to her favorite oldies station, swung by my bedroom for the baby monitor and my journal, and practically skipped out the back door.
Before taking care of my mother, I would spend hours each summer out in my back yard. Every morning, I’d hand water the ferns and flowers, clear bird droppings from the Sky chairs, cushions and hammock, and joyously play in the gardens. After a while, I’d slip into the house to gather my journal and pen, the latest Nora Roberts’s novel, and my iced tea. Hours would slip by with my attention flitting like the sparrows. I’d read a chapter or two, write a dream or two. Koi and Bridget would take turns lounging in my lap for indulgent massages.
Today, my thoughts landed on how much we take for granted all the little things in our lives that make us happy. Now that I spend so much of my day attending to Mom’s needs, I barely make it out to the back haven. My heart yearns for those easy summer days spent in such lazy pleasure.