(this was written years ago, before I was disabled)
I think I am a tad too busy.
I drive myself to distraction, trying to juggle two jobs, church work and community service, the household, my animals, artwork, reading, fixing up the house, and trying to do it all perfectly.
Instead, I collapse in a heap on the floor with dust bunnies larger than cats playing all about me.
I remember when I was a little girl, my mother would set me to folding the towels and then she would tell me a story when she was finished.
Nobody is here to tell me stories now, to reward my work, so I must remember them for myself.
I remember stories about a faerie named Alexandria who rode chipmunks as her steeds and she glowed when the sun touched her.
I remember stories of a pony named Jack who took his rider by the seat of her pants down a lane to get home in time for dinner.
I remember stories of a pig named Billy Bumps who played with cats til they ran up a tree and left him alone in the grass, crying.
Sometimes I sit on the porch with a dog under one arm, the little girl who lives upstairs under another, and a cat trying to sit on both laps at the same time.
We sit and watch the birds chasing each other and we tell each other stories.
We go to a place of magic and giggling, and we leave the dishes to sit and the laundry unfolded.
In ten years, in fifty years, no one will remember if my floors were clean this day, or if the cabinets were neat.
But someone might know the name of the dog who snuggled with us, or remember the stories we told.
The necklace we made of clay & love might still be circling some other little girl's neck.
If you are looking to me for some words of wisdom, some magic spell which will help you to do it all, or to remember that you don't have to do it all, I can't help you.
If I knew it once, I have forgotten it.
I only know that sometimes, once in while, I remember, briefly. I remember to tell stories while I wash the dishes, recite poetry while I fold the towels, and to sit on the porch with a dog and a cat and a kid, watching the birds.
May you find the strength to do the same.
So Be It.
Take what you like and leave the rest.