Not My Circus |Reclaiming Peace

I had just about had it, taking care of everyone and everything else— and felt this close to one of my Exorcist moments. 

As scary as they are, I’m sure I must not be alone in having them.

You know—you just snap. 

Suddenly your head starts spinning in 360-degree warp speed circles,

and people start looking at you all crazy—with big round eyes.

And it’s always the teensiest, tiniest things that trigger it. 

In this case, it was the cake.

The last piece. 

The last piece, and I made it.

The one single slice that was meticulously hidden in the back corner of the refrigerator, behind the ketchup. No one in my house can ever even find the ketchup without my help, so I was fairly confident it would be safe. 

It wasn’t. 

Someone had gotten to it before I did. The plate was near (not in) the sink, and there were a few chocolate crumbs on the counter.  Someone’s mouth had actually cleaned every lick of frosting off the fork!

My eyes did a glaze-over, but I caught myself before the full rage set in, protecting anyone who happened to be in my path. 

However, I needed to get away. 

To the lake.

Alone.

And I knew it had to be alone.

By the end of the day, I realized a family outing was all I ever wanted.

But here’s the thing about announcing you need time alone at the lake. 

Apparently, it’s an invitation.

The entire household—Henry and his two boys, who were not boys at all—they are fully grown men, who somehow found their way “home’—suddenly discovered a deep spiritual longing for nature.

My alone time was about to convert into a blended-family pilgrimage—and as much as that didn’t fit my plan, I instantly shifted from Craz-o-Woman-on-the-Brink, to Master Coordinator-in- Chief.

The next thing I knew, I was untangling fishing poles, quick washing the wads of towels that had been fermenting in the garage since the last lake day and making custom chicken salad sandwiches—one with the works, one the works-hold the nuts, and the other—plain.  

And then there was mine.

Halfway to the lake, Henry asked where the cooler was. 

I felt it, and I’m sure they all heard it.

That dry, crickety sound my neck makes when my head is about to spin.

I could sense it—my head was about to take-off!

I had asked three times—for someone to grab the cooler—

“We’ll just grab some pre-made sandwiches at the grocery store,” said the voice of calm, aka, Henry.

“The grocery store?”  I didn’t say that—I screeched it.   And then, I regained my composure and committed to myself—remain quiet and just let them see for themselves how the day was ruined!

From the boat we scouted for “home base,” where my hammock and I would sway while the fishermen did fishy things on the far-from-me end of the lake.   

I tried not to get excited when I saw “my spot” because I didn’t want to ruin my bad mood.  I had to bite my lip so as not to smile—but there was a cluster of trees reaching skyward from a fully submerged island.  They faced a shoreline of lush purple lupines that climbed the hills until they faded into blue as they met the sky.

My spot.

Once the hammock was secured, I could hang there in the warm sun, over the water for as long as my bladder could take it. (I can hold it for a long time). But if worse came to worse, I could swim to that purple paradise.

I climbed in the hammock, and they handed me my supermarket sandwich, a bottle of sunscreen, and to my surprise, a can of wine labeled, She Can. 

That was sweet.

And fitting, I thought. 

I can.

After many assurances that I’d be fine—and that they could drive off as far as they wanted, (translation: just leave me now.  Leave me forever)— I finally watched the boat as it disappeared from sight, heading to another edge of the lake for “prime fishing.”

Alone now, I released a heavy sigh and assessed my surroundings.  

Far off, I could hear the geese honking, and I saw one spider hanging overhead that I’d need to keep my eye on.  Other than that, no signs of dangerous wildlife!  I was perfectly shaded by the trees, warm speckles of sun kissing my thighs.   

I could reach the water with my toes—the perfect dip. 

There was a very light breeze, not cold—

that swiftly lifted my spirits (and my skirt). 

And then.

I sighed again. 

What to do, other than keep my eye on Charlotte, who had neither moved up nor down on her single silver thread?

When was the last time I was alone this way, unable to do or fix anything? An accidental and unchoreographed day, that I would have died for in the early stages of my relationship when I was trying so hard to be accepted by my new blended family.

I dangled my feet, as patches of shade danced on my lap in that glorious breeze. 

This would have been the perfect time to organize all my thoughts, all my fix-it or fix them plans, all the to-dos and should-bes. 

But I couldn’t even think. 

I felt deliriously peaceful. 

No more sighing, simply breathing.

Just me and Charlotte, perfectly still. 

Maybe the day was doing just fine without my help.  Maybe not every story belonged to me, and this, just as it was, was just what I needed.

I let go of all that did not belong to me, took a sip of my wine and a bite of my sandwich.

It was delicious. 

Don’t tell anyone.

The Lupines at Folsom Lake in Early Spring