Not Much Can Be Done

There are many details of my life I have little or no control over. First is this never-ending cold. Since I left the teaching profession (3 months ago), I have had one form of this congestive bug or another. Currently, it's a clogged head that requires me to stuff tissues into every pocket.

Second, there is this presidential election. While the polls are swinging my way, I fear the final days of lashing anger and bitter accusations.

Next, my dwindling investments. I no longer listen to the news. When my financial statements arrive in the mail, they remain unopened until I have a firm grip on something solid like my desk, the kitchen island, or these days, my house -- something weighty and substantial.

Then, there is my part-time, minimum-wage job. While I'm feeling more seasoned with every shift, a letter arrived in every employees' mailbox "positively" informing us that hours will be reduced in the next month, though they will increase as the holiday and snow season approaches(that is, IF the snow falls, which it's starting to do, and IF people decide to celebrate the holidays). The tone of optimism fell short of its intent -- I have averaged 20 hours one week and 8 the next. How much more will they cut?

So, I find myself grasping tightly to those things I can control. There is laundry. There is housecleaning. There are long walks with the dog. There is grocery shopping and simple dinners that involve digging through the freezer for those morsels we've stored away for future use.

The future is now.

There is the budget I've created, muddling through the spreadsheet program on my computer, meticulously logging the receipts for dog food, our food, and all those bills that come. "Death and taxes," they say, are the only certainties. But there are bills, too, and the dog who must be fed and exercised. There is sleep and there are friends. There is the beauty of this day --a blue, blue morning and the chill of winter. There are difficult certainties and there are enjoyable ones, too.

Letting go of those things I cannot control is freeing. While I can only do it sporadically, when I do, I breathe more deeply. There is motivation when I let go -- I am now working on other alternatives to my part-time job. There is dog walking that started almost of its on volition, and there is the chance for a small writing job at my former employer -- a monthly newsletter complete with photographs, which requires my participation on field trips and in the classroom. More hours equals more money.

And there is Ann. She is a constant and something I can wholly depend upon. We haven't seen much of each other these days what with my evening shifts and her long hours at work during the day, but when we find those shared moments they feel steady and certain.

The dogs (Lucy is here) have awakened from their after-breakfast-slumber and the day begs for a walk. So we shall head out to the lake and leave the uncertainty of stock markets, elections, and work behind.