Stillwater

Sometimes you just need a Day of Nothing.

You know, a day where you toss the to-do list and enjoy an unexpected pleasure.

I was recently distracted by my dirty make-up brushes as I did my morning routine. So I immediately sat down on the bathroom floor, cleaned them with Sephora brush cleanser, squeezed the water out of them, reshaped them and lined them up in descending order on the windowsill to dry. While they were drying I dumped everything out of my make-up bag and edited the contents, which forced me to clean the inside of the bag. I even cleaned deep in the crevices with a wet Q-tip. I didn't want to hurt my nail polish bag's feelings, so I did the same thing to it, which led to an impromptu pedicure. Since my toes had to dry I tweezed my eyebrows for 20 minutes upside-down on my bed (where I get the perfect light from the window). Before I knew it lunch had passed and nothing was really accomplished other than my beauty products were organized and my feet looked amazing. THAT is a Day of Nothing. I need those days now and again.

Days of Nothing can be hard to come by.

I had my last one at our family reunion over July 4th. Reunion = 31 people, 4 dogs, 10 dining chairs, 3 toilets, 2 generators and limited square footage. It's all sorts of crazy. Not the place I expected to have such a day.

The scene for the final afternoon of our reunion:

Adults: playing canasta at the dining table of the big cabin

Teenagers: reading on the sofa

Youth: exploring and making spy forts

Littles: playing with dump trucks in the sand

Babies: napping

I stole myself away from the masses and retreated down to the unoccupied small cabin. I creeped up the spiral staircase to the bed under the tiny window. I lay sideways with an opened book and heavy eyes. Lucy curled up behind my knees (one of my favorite feelings). All I could hear was the cross breeze quietly floating from one screen door to the other.  No ticking clocks or air conditioners or dishwashers. No white noise. Just utter quiet.

Through some miracle not one child or adult came looking for me for the next two hours AND a storm blew in. Unadulterated Sleep + Mountain Rain = One of Life's Greatest Combo Meals

Our cabin is in a secluded forest in the middle of this:

The stormy air comes sweeping down the plains, but our forest slows it down. Our forest takes the raindrops and delegates whether they should land on thirsty meadow, smooth leaf, pointed needle or metal roof. Mountain rain smells raw and earthy and pure. It puts the dust to sleep and gives the pines halos of fresh scent.

I drifted in and out of consciousness for those two hours. I would rustle from a gust of deliciously-smelling wet wind or the pitter-patter of droplets and be back asleep before I could register where I was. My dreams continued despite their interruptions. It was the most peaceful sleep I can ever remember having.* Totally fluid, totally neutral and totally quiet. It was so quiet that when I had awakened for good I lay perfectly still and heard the difference of rain plinking on a leaf from rain plinking on the ground.

I enjoyed every second of the reality warp of that nap. Time froze, I forgot what day it was, I forget where I was and I listened to Nature tend to herself. Lao Tzu said, "Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished."

Nature has Days of Nothing, too.

*Other than the time I had my upper GI scoped and awoke from an anesthesia nap. THAT was awesome. I felt as light and carefree as a cloud. Greg says I repeatedly stroked the nurse's hand while saying "thank you"...I only remember the cloud.