I will soon be adopting the Spanish custom of taking a siesta.  Don’t judge me.  Lots of highly productive and fulfilled people throughout history have long spent the middle hours of the day at rest. 

   Charlemagne, anyone?  Don Quixote?

   Many solid reasons support this practice.  More than just a happy throwback to Kindergarten napping, taking a siesta is good for your digestion and maybe even your heart health; it helps prevent heat exhaustion and overexposure to the dangerous sun; it can clear your mind before a busy evening; and it might even reduce your electricity bill.  Yep.

   We’ll get back to that last one in just a sec.

   The custom of making the midday meal heavier than the late night meal is globally and historically a lot more widespread than the alternative, and unnamed experts and fancy pantses agree it’s healthiest.  And as big meals tend to make a person sleepy (in Bengal they call it rice-sleep), resting afterward is just perfectly reasonable.
  

   Especially where the climate is hot and the day’s burdens are agricultural, resting after a substantial lunch is also a safety measure.  We certainly meet that criteria.  Oklahoma summers are HOT man.  Like, regularly in excess of 100 degrees, humid, and windy.  So steamy it feels like you are standing in front of a wet blowing furnace.  That kind of hot.

   Why more people in our modern North American culture do not observe siesta is a mystery to me.  Doing so is neither laziness nor apathy; it is rather a wise and well timed conservation of health and energy.  I for one am going to start this as soon as possible, which is today.

   The electricity billing at our little farm has recently seen a major update.  We now pay different rates per kilowatt hour according to the time of day, corresponding to the demand being placed on the grid at that time.  The point of this new program is to encourage efficiency and spread the load across the clock, because electricity cannot really be stored.  It has to be produced pretty much right when it is used.  

  My husband can explain all of this brilliantly, but for now suffice it to say that the same power consumption at 10 in the morning is considerably less expensive than, say, 6 in the evening when everybody is home and busy cooking, cooling off, and watching Swamp People. 

   To be a little more specific, we arrange our farm days with the understanding that “peak time” is from 2 pm till 7 pm.  During these hours we avoid heavily electrified chores and activities.   And our house is total electric, so that kind of includes everything you might do indoors.

   And truly working outdoors during the hottest part of the day, in Oklahoma, is asking for heatstroke. 

   Finally, few people know this, but late afternoon is when taste buds are most receptive to both fruit and yogurt smoothies and sweet iced tea.  Scientifically, this is also the time of day when your eyes are best suited for consuming new release literature.  You cannot fight biology. 

   Catching my drift?  Siesta.  Grab a book and a cold drink, find your hammock, and shut down a few expensive appliances.

   I can think of a few other perfect solutions for the 2pm till 7 pm chapter of my weekdays, and they all fit nicely under this enticing Latin umbrella.

     So for at least the next eight or nine weeks, in the latter afternoon hours, my batteries shall recharge whilst the rest of you Westerners slave away in either the extreme heat or the extremely expensive air conditioning.  My evenings shall be freshly approached, my metabolism shall find reprieve from heavy nighttime meals, my reading lists shall gradually dwindle, and Handsome will be happy to have saved some electriciy dollars.  Dollars which will then be spent on more fruit and yogurt smoothies for the afternoons.

   If all of these compelling arguments have failed to sway you to siesta along with me, still please suspend judgment.  I won’t be able to hear your Industrial Revolution comments anyway.  Because I will be away, resting.

   To call me ruined by this beautiful place we call home would be fair.  There’s plenty of work to do, always, and nothing is ever really perfect by crazy-people standards; but I cannot imagine a more satisfying way to spend every day than to wake up here, work here, play here, and rest here. 

   The pleasures, challenges, and rewards of this crazy little farm march in gentle succession from dawn till dusk and at every moment in between, day after day and season after season.  I never dread coming home; in fact, I get homesick too easily now.  Home is now both my foundation and my escape, and I feel so blessed to be able to say that at such a relatively young age.

   Time passes too quickly within these gates, no matter how hard we try to manage our days and hours wisely. 

   One of the most beautiful truths we have discovered is that other people feel the specialness too.  Maybe not with the intensity we do, because visitors are usually only here for a few hours at a time, but we constantly collect warm, emotional reviews from friends and family of all ages about how good they feel here.

   One of our very beautiful, special-to-our-hearts nieces “K” once remarked that she feels happy here, that there is peace.  This only confirms for us that our country home was a gift from God.  I am not sure we have ever expressed to her our gratitude for that gift.  Thank you Sweet Girl.

   All of our prayers are not yet answered.  We wait and hope, ache, for all the beds to be filled here more often and for the dinner table to be crowded with happy faces on regular nights, without big parties. 
   That pain gets frequently eased with great mercy from the Lord.  But it is deep and pulsing and is always present. 

   And as so often happens, living with unsolvable pain makes us keenly aware of the abundant blessings we enjoy!  We have the gifts of knowing how to appreciate the things that are going well and of daily living so many miracles. 

   We simmer in love that comes in many shapes and languages.  We are surrounded by strong, compassionate people, both friends and family.  We get to care for a variety of creatures who mirror our spirit sometimes more than I would like to admit.  And we are constantly learning lessons we didn’t know were so vital. 
   The bottom line is that life here is good.  I am not bragging, just celebrating.  From the bottom of my heart.

  

   Over the years I have noticed both swells and droughts in my feelings of creativity or maybe in my productive creativity.  Writer’s Block is very real, and of course people from all crafts and disciplines have times of head-scratching and eye-rubbing because the seed of an idea refuses to germinate. 

   This could apply to office issues, home decorating, parenting, vacation planning, studying, anything at all that requires creative thinking or problem solving.  Universal but not terrible.

   One weird and slightly personal observation I’ve made of my own patterns has helped a bunch and might help you too.  Err, at least the ladies.

  Recognizing at what stage of my, ahem, lunar cycle I am tells me whether I have at that moment a propensity for wild idea storms, hard physical labor, painfully tedious attention to detail, praising and encouraging others, or just collecting energy from outside of myself. 

   I call this last time the Desperately Dry Sponge days.  It’s when I troll tastemaker blogs the most, re-read Charlotte Bronte, and flip through crinkly old marked up issues of my fave print magazines.

  Seems like every part of the month lends itself to something special and, when capitalized upon, can be uniquely fruitful.  Every stage of creating, by the way, is rich in blessing or benefit too!  All are necessary for the full artistic experience, and it may take more than one complete trek through the menu to complete a really good project.

   Maybe this explains in part why some bloggers may let a week or two pass without posting and then suddenly explode with  a long list of brilliantly written essays!  Or why after weeks of stagnant time in front of blank canvases, a painter can’t sleep for days because she is churning out her soul in color. 

   This brings with it a particular obstacle worth noticing, because how sad for the person who FINALLY feels the onslaught of motility in her craft but is bound by the structure of life to be at a paying job, care for others, etc, etc.

   Wait, shall we only go with the flow?  Remain tethered to the reggae vibe of our feelings?  I kind of don’t think so.  Part of adopting a discipline, of course, is the discipline part.  Working through regardless of the easy energy you feel.  So there’s a certain responsibility of any artist to try and produce with some amount of consistency, even if the end product is at times weak. 

   It will get better.  And who says you have to share the weak stuff with anyone?

   Pay attention to the added benefits here, too.  Check out what kind of emotional or psychological payoff you enjoy after managing to exact revenge on those thoughts like, “NOT TODAY ALREADY!”

   And by all means, when the monsoon hits, embrace it as much as you can.  Ride the waves of expression as much and as skillfully as you personally can do at that time, knowing that its time is possibly limited.

   How do you manage the swells and droughts in your creative life?  What practical methods do you have in place for those dry days?  And how do you rearrange your life for the lush days of outpouring?    

   The process of how people push through from frustration to completion is fascinating to me.  Crossing my fingers that you all share.  xoxo 

   Few normal, everyday events have the power to thrust me into a foul mood more than walking barefoot on a dirty floor.  Especially a hardwood floor encrusted with parrot fodder.  Especially when it happens fifteen feet away from the parrot’s perch. 

   I also hate sweeping and mopping, though.  These rank super low on my list of Pleasurable Domestic Duties.  What an unfortunate combination of personality traits, eh? 



   And while cleaning up after Pacino is not difficult per se, it is a tedious job that needs to be done frequently.  Which translates to, “It gets put off a lot.” 

   Like any job that gets put off, this can be problematic.  Maybe I can get away with not sweeping for an afternoon.  If I scoot his perch a little bit away from our walking path, maybe the floors can even wait until tomorrow. 

   But that causes terrible things to accumulate beneath the loveseat.  And eventually we are all padding around the living room, shaking empty sunflower seeds from our bare feet.  Or cursing the dried red peppers in the adjoining room’s carpet. 

   My last act of defiance against cleaning floors is tiptoeing through the now thickened blanket of seeds, elusive white under feathers, and cracker crumbs that radiates out from Pacino’s throne.  By day two of procrastinating, I lend to my trek across the lower level of our home the same energy you might give to navigating a minefield.  This causes my tension to mount rapidly.

   Almost as soon as I realize we have reached this extreme yet again, I go find the broom & mop.  Ten minutes later the hardwood is restored to safety and smoothness.  We are walking upright again, no longer wasting time, energy, and peacefulness on avoiding this very natural part of life.

   What are you actively avoiding today?  Don’t be like me and spend more of yourself on avoiding a job than you would spend just getting it done already.  Bite the bullet!  Do yourself a favor and fast forward into completion while you are still smiling…



  “The fastest way through a problem is solving it.”

~Author Unknown

Thanks for your indirect motivation, Pacino!
xoxoxo
~Momma

   Yes, this is a real word. 

   Defined by Webster anthropomorphism is, “an interpretation of what is not human or personal in terms of human or personal characteristics.  (Humanization)”  The word is believed to have first been used during the 18th century, not long before the Victorian era of studying animals became super cool, trendy, and fruitful.

   An easy way to wrap your head around this is to think of whether animals have feelings, personalities, etc, any of the things which make the HUMAN animal, well, human.  Remember this is an interpretation, even less scientific than science already is.  Professional and philosophical views on this are all over the map!  What do you think?  Where do we delineate between the rest of Kingdom Animalia and ourselves?

   Two books I have read are excellent resources here.



Studied this in senior English.

At a Catholic high school,

so please don’t prematurely 

freak out about the curriculum of evolution. 

xoxoxo

I checked this out at the library.

I am not positive it has been returned.

What is the maximum fine again?



   Being the very happy every day caretaker of upwards of 36 animals on our crazy little farm, I confidently assert that animals have personalities, moods, thought processes, emotions, you name it!  

   They respond to hormones and instincts, sure; but they also respond to language, tone, affection, social arrangements, and age.  Our parrot in particular is a really good judge of character.  And our black mare is so aware of her physical beauty that she displays pride.  Real, shameful, sinful pride.  On the other hand, she is an excellent mother.

   In this country’s pet-having culture, really, who would dare argue that animals are individuals?  Where things get dicey is at the mention of soul.  And sin, like with Daphne’s pride.

   And this is exactly the intersection where we need answers.  Do all dogs go to heaven?  What assurances should we be offering little kids when they say goodbye?  Especially if you have chosen a Bible path, what do you say?  What do you believe?  And how does this affect your mode of animal discipline?  Yikes. 

   Today is more a day of questions for me than answers.  I want to get a grip on this once and for all.  Please jump in!