The Best Laid Plans 3/5/2023

By: Jennifer Richardson Holt

It has most assuredly been one of those weeks.  I am certain you know what I mean when I make such a statement. However, in thinking about it and looking at it, that’s an odd statement that doesn’t say much of anything.  But anyway, I daresay all of you have had similar weeks.  If it could go wrong, it most assuredly did and most of the times in ways that I didn’t remotely see coming.  I don’t know that this blog will have a great deal of length to it.  And yes, I do admit that I may have just written that because every time I do make the announcement that I don’t think I will have very much to write I end up prattling on for the average amount minimum, if not more. So, if I stay true to form then I will still manage to pull off a decent length blog, and if I actually don’t give you much content then, well, I guess I did forewarn you.

I guess I should have known that it was coming.  Last weekend things were going too well.  I had gotten so many things accomplished. I had done a lot of tasks, was ready for the next day, and was all set.  I even had my clothes laid out for the next day accessories included.  I was quite pleased with myself. And now that I have typed that, perhaps that was the problem. I think anytime we give ourselves too much credit on how accomplished we are, even if it is in basic things, we are probably asking for trouble.  I think anytime we get too full of ourselves or satisfied with our own performance we are probably teetering dangerously close to the edge of a chasm that will require us to be taken down a notch or two. Let’s face it. Nobody likes to be taught a lesson, especially the hard way but often it tends to be the only way we can learn.  Lord knows I am speaking from experience.  Not fun experience, but experience. And as my beloved C.S. Lewis said, “Experience is a brutal teacher, but you learn, by God, you learn.”

So, as I thought I had myself all sorted, I was also looking forward to indulging and treating myself to celebrate my birthday which was this past week. It wasn’t going to be anything outlandish or overly excessive. Well, not outlandish anyway, but when it comes to the food end of things, there is a chance that excessive could be accurate.  But if you can’t indulge on your birthday then when can you?  Am I right? Am I attempting to justify what probably qualifies as gluttony? It is highly likely.  I admit that as a Southerner my deeply intimate and possibly unhealthy relationship with delicious food is a factor here but, I digress.  I was looking forward to well wishes, gifts and food for my birthday and the night before some of those pleasantries were to begin my daughter suddenly became ill.  From then on, I have been in a wearisome ballet of balancing working from home, going to the doctor, administering medication, trying to work from home and disinfection.  This is just the nature of the beast of life. Someone getting sick and having to be tended to is not remotely out of the ordinary. This just hit suddenly and with such ferocity that well, it just made it seem all the more disconcerting.

I feel I need to add here that I am in no way bitter that I was tending to a sick child over the course of my birthday. I understand such is the nature of parenthood and it truly isn’t a big deal.  I promise it isn’t.  Once I’ve gotten to a certain age, I have noticed that birthdays aren’t really the big to-do that they used to be. Should they be? I don’t know. I wouldn’t be opposed to it but perhaps age has made me value things differently than I used to.  While I assure you that I would not balk at the idea of a overly detailed party to celebrate my aging, the idea is a mixture of intrigue and ridiculousness to me.  Anyway, I just wanted you know that caring for my daughter wasn’t a burden it was just a development that caught me unawares.  She is better now by the way.

I’ve said all this, all this moaning and groaning about what is not right with life or what is difficult, yet I need to add something.  When I finally did manage to make it back to work, on my drive I discovered that in my hiatus from making my commute, that the wisteria is now in full bloom. There had not been a speck of purple the last I drove through my nearby town and now there are great cascading walls of it dripping off of trees thirty and forty feet high.  It is spectacular.  As I was returning from work the weather was being its typical irritable springtime self.  The sky was a menacing but beautiful shade somewhere between charcoal and navy.  Strong winds whipped the trees about and their infant leaves in bright neon greens nearly glowed set against the darkened sky.  It was beautiful.

So, scattered amongst illness and mess there was still beauty.  It was right there seemingly to decorate even the most basic of travels that I make every day.  It wasn’t even anything out of the ordinary.  Everything that caught my eye could be called the most average of spring goings on.  But that’s just it. They aren’t average. None of it is ordinary. It never has been. But like those bright young leaves against a stormy sky, when the tiniest of bright spots stand shining against darkness, they are all the more lovely and meaningful. And for those little sparkling notes I am thankful.  I am thankful that no matter the situation I am not forgotten, and I am not alone.