Pajama Party

I have been away from making blog entries for such a long time.  Not that I don't think about writing all the time.  I miss it, need and love it but the fact is that I have been otherwise engaged and it became a battle of priorities during the long dark road that led to the loss of my amazing mother.

So, here I am.  About to write on a topic that won't change the world in any way, won't be overly impressive or even witty, but it's a start and it is what came to my head when I decided that today was THE day to return to something important in my life so where better to start than my pajamas......

It's 9:15 in the morning, a beautiful fall morning, a Monday morning and.....I-am-still-in-my-pajamas.  In fact, I have been in them since ummmm, around seven last night and I probably will remain in them for at least another hour.  I do that a LOT and why not?  My father would have a cardiac arrest if he knew this.  Which is probably why I take such delight in not getting dressed for the day until I am absolutely,positively ready to do so. It is not that I want him to die, it is just that  I was never allowed this pleasure while growing up and even then, any time visiting his home.

When I was a child and then a young adult, there was a RULE in our home.  No body was to come near the breakfast table until fully dressed.  Time did not matter, illness, soreness, fatigue.....no problem.  Get dressed anyway.  Saturday morning, same.  In fact, we actually had plenty of time to get dressed.  Were we not out of bed by  seven, my father would be standing at the door of our rooms, bugle in hand, not-so-sweetly encouraging us to get up lest we "sleep the whole day?".  And I wonder now why I can't make it past six no matter what time I go to bed, no matter what the day ahead holds.

 I'm "up and at 'em" by six, you can count on that.  But, I'm not dressed! A protest?  Perhaps.  But the reality is that I need to be dressed for my own day, not for anyone else's.  Been there, done it.  Up by 5:30,  in the shower, off to the train station or into the car for a long commute.  Done.  No more.  I'm retired now and the work that I now do is so much more vital than any I've ever been paid to do. You see, I consider myself a work in progress.  I'm not nearly done and I have an ever-increasing need to feel comfortable and prepared for the job. It is the hardest job I've ever done and my desire to get it correct is the strongest I've ever felt.

I spend my mornings ruminating.  I read bits of things from books I like to have strewn around in my little Pond Room.  I study my Italian language.  I sip coffee.  I organize the things that I simply cannot face later in the day.  I am a complete morning person.  I use my time to plan not the rest of my life, just one day at a time.  If living through the catastrophic illness and death of a parent teaches one anything, it is that.  We only have today......really.  So, each day, I strive for improvement.  Better use of my time, less wasting of energy, making sure I'm connecting with people I love, whatever I, in my pajamas conjure up.  It's all mine.

I will be leaving for a great adventure in seventeen days.  I'll be spending one month almost entirely alone, in a lovely little apartment in the old part of Assisi.  I plan to use the time to complete my grieving, renew my strength, physically and emotionally, and bask in the knowledge that I am surrounded by all of the support that I will require to accomplish those goals.  My intention is to be away from all other things so that I can focus on part of my job.....completing the work that is me.  I will be listening, writing, missing loved ones, praying and planning.  I'm packing things, making lists and making travel plans now, most of it during the quiet hours of the morning before Joe wakes up and we share our morning coffee and our thoughts.  I just went through some of the items I have already set aside and what do you know,  my favorite pajamas, all set to go.  It's as if they sprung out of the dresser drawer all by themselves, ready for action.

I hope that I will be faithful to my blog, making entries every day.  If and when you read it, you will know that it was written by a contented woman, in her pajamas.

My father will never know.....