Needing Earth Frequency

The lapse between my posts must indicate the madness that consumed our house for the past two weeks. Prepping and plotting for William's thirteenth birthday, starting up summer swim, writing papers and attending class at Regis - all good stuff but time-consuming. Even the cats were crazy, running sprints from one hallway to another, crashing into walls and making spectacular, leaping fails from the couch to the piano that landed them sprawled in the wine rack.

I made a birthday scrapbook for William out of letters and photos from friends and extended family. The idea was borrowed from a dear friend who made a book for her son - now graduating from high school. I loved the idea of giving my kids something to refer to as they enter their teens - words of wisdom and support that tell the kids they are never alone. Aden keeps her book by her bed, and William slept with his last night.

The downside of scrapbooking (aside from my lack of experience and finesse with any artistic endeavor) is that I was forced to stare down the eye of the storm of Time, which has transformed my "football baby" (so-called because he would stop crying in the "football" hold) into a teenager and my friend's children from fifth-grade leaders to high school graduates. The rapid passage of time takes my breath and raises my heart rate, alerts me to the folds of skin under my chin and the white hairs in my eyebrows.

A dear friend heard me out on the subject, and alerted me to the fact that "earth time" is different than "people time," so one technique for maintaining sanity in crazy May is to go outside. "Stare at clouds, watch the sky," she said. "Take a walk on the greenbelt or just lie on the lawn."  The frequency (hertz) of earth is slower than the frequency of a human, and the effect of absorbing this lower beat is akin to meditation (which I've been sleeping through in recent weeks).

So, I'm making time for a walk today, and plotting a day-long escape for the family in which we saunter, sit, and take in the beautiful, slow heartbeat of the outside. A fitting end to a wild month.