Across the hall is the sound of Elliot "talking" (ooh-ah, oh and then something that sounds like the cat's craw), and next door to that little voice is the deeper voice of his uncle Dylan talking on-line with one of his friends, another deep young man's voice coming through the computer screen, which echoes through the rooms, down the hall. While here in my room, the cat and I lay on the bed. We are settling in.
This afternoon Natalie knocked softly on my door, "You sleeping?"..."Unh" was my reply as I lazily opened my eyes, trying for some rest before a night of work. "Well, I just wanted to show you this shirt a friend of mine made for Elliot.".."Mm, hmm?"..and I motioned with my hand, not unlike the pope, the intent being, "Bring it over" but left unsaid and so she cautiosly, quietly walked across the room and held Elliot in front of me, "Niice" I said, putting out my hand, touching the images on the shirt, "silk screened?" Ummm...she didn't know. It was. That was okay. Then she was gone. It is good to have a multi-generational household. It is good for now. It is a season. It works.
Tonight I am off-on-call which is fine because tomorrow, at another hospital, there is an eight hour training class and today was my first 'Runner's Group'. We went a mile. We learned proper form. We talked and high-fived at the end. We are women, mother's, ranging in age from 23 to well, me.
The art of learning to pace oneself is essential. Perhaps in running. Perhaps in life. Especially these days as the shadows grow longer and the feeling of winter begins.