The alarm pulls me from sleep. I stumble towards the bathroom, and then the coffeepot. Turn off the porch light, bring in the newspapers. Do my yoga while the laptop boots. Write.
When it’s time for my day job, I move from the laptop in my upstairs reading space to the office off the kitchen and turn on that laptop. Breakfast over email. In the late afternoon, I reverse the process. Shut down the office computer, move back upstairs, more yoga stretches to relax the body. Write and work until Brad tells me dinner is ready. More work-writing. Sleep.
The rhythm of my day becomes the rhythm of my week, punctuated by two days back-to-back of yard work, housework, errands, calls to family, chats with friends, the occasional evening out. Cuddle time. Church.
The rhythm of the week becomes the rhythm of the year, punctuated by the early fall crushing and pressing of grapes. The late fall wine party to share tastes of the new and old wines kicks off the holiday party season. The winter racking, the summer bottling, the late summer celebration and awards ceremony with fellow wine-makers. The rhythm of the wine alternates with the rhythm of family. A summer trip half-way across the country to see family – biological and chosen, and a Christmas trip to see them again. A pause for New Years with friends. Where did the year go? Where will our lives be a year from now?
This has not always been the rhythm of my life. Two decades of child-raising brought its own, dramatically different, patterns from the ones I play now. And like it, the present patterns will gradually give way to another, as yet unplayed.
Such is the rhythm of life.
This post is part of ‘5 Minute Friday’ – today, on the theme: Rhythm
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