Several years ago, a dear friend gave me this Mary Oliver poem.

 

Why I Wake Early

~ Mary Oliver ~

Hello, sun in my face.

Hello, you who made the morning

and spread it over the fields

and into the faces of the tulips

and the nodding morning glories,

and into the windows of, even, the

miserable and the crotchety –

best preacher that ever was,

dear star, that just happens

to be where you are in the universe

to keep us from ever-darkness,

to ease us with warm touching,

to hold us in the great hands of light –

good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day

in happiness, in kindness.

The poem lives on the bookshelf next to my bed.

I read it often, and when I do, I breathe in deep gratitude for my friend who gave me the poem.

I feel grateful for my wonderful husband whose head still imprints the pillow he leaves at 5:30 most mornings.

I feel gratitude for the health of my beautiful children and the gift of my eyes to see them.

I know I’m blessed to have these fingers to touch the tips of their noses and hold the pencil that scrawls these words across the page.

I’m grateful for the tall trees swaying outside my window and the sun streaming through to warm my pillow.

And this morning, like so many others I feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for my greatest reasons to wake early… and then stay right in bed!

Do you wake early? What fills you with gratitude?

I’m at the Laundromat.  Our dryer broke.  I’m happy.  Not that our dryer broke, but being here at the Laundromat.

(Yup, even though my book is getting published – there’s still laundry to do!)

I like the order and purpose of this place.  I like the focus.  Laundry.  That’s it.  Well laundry and writing.

I like how I put in a load, add detergent, choose a temperature setting (which I’m never sure about – Hot for darks?  Cold for whites?) press start and then sit.

And wait.

If I were at home, I would have put in the load of laundry, added detergent, pressed start, answered the phone, let the dog out, let the dog in, checked email, hung up the phone, let the dog out, picked up clothes from the bathroom floor, taken ground turkey meat out of the freezer, turned on the tv, turned off the tv, let the dog in, remembered the phone call I had to make, crossed the kitchen to pick up the phone, picked up the phone and forgot who I was going to call, checked email, made a to-do and… I think you get the picture.

Not here.  Not here at the Laundromat.  Here I sit.  And wait.  And write.  I may come here everyday.  With or without laundry.  Like my secret-to-happiness morning walks I think I’ve discovered the secret to focused writing.

For me at least.  Imagine, some people just sit at a desk.

Maybe I’ll set a chair next to my washer and dryer (once it’s fixed) and after every load goes in, I’ll sit.

Just sit and write.

Yeah right.

Folding my first load of whites, I came across my daughter’s well-loved Taylor Swift t-shirt.  It reminded me of the laundry blog I posted last year.  I did a little digging and discovered it was exactly a year + one day ago!

So just for fun, a trip down Memory Lane!  It appears everyday mindfulness remains an enduring goal!

Clean Laundry, Clear Mind (TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 2011)

Today I folded laundry… with mindfulness.

I didn’t rush.  I didn’t complain.  I didn’t have a phone balanced between my ear and my shoulder.  I just folded laundry.

And I noticed.  I became aware.  As I folded my husband’s white work t-shirts, I pictured his broad chest beneath the smooth, cotton fabric.  I could smell his morning shampoo. As I folded my daughter’s prized Taylor Swift t-shirt, I smiled at her pre-adolescent innocence and joy. Folding her clean, white winter tank tops, I remembered her little toddler body scampering away from me as I tried to get her dressed.

Tucker’s gray t-shirts with the Burton logo’s and skateboard company names and scary looking men dressed in shapeless baggy clothes, reminded me of the day when he was three years old and stood high on the back of our living room couch, a homemade cardboard snowboard beneath his feet and screamed, “Watch this, Mom!”

As I folded my new white bras, I thought Oprah would be so proud that I went to a “bra-fitting specialist,” to have them sized correctly, but that the sales clerk would be disappointed they’d gone in the dryer after she’d specifically told me they shouldn’t.

As I gathered up all the lone socks, I thought of Meg, our loyal English Mastiff, always greeting us at the door, with a single sock hanging from her mouth.

And then, just like that, all the laundry was folded.

And I was so glad that I’d gone to that mindful place, so that when I put my daughter’s pajamas in her bottom drawer and saw that the cat had pooped underneath, I could just breathe (not too deeply), get a plastic bag, cleaning spray and remind myself to remind her to clean the litter box.

And I was so glad to be in that mindful state so that when I put my husband’s t-shirts on top of his dresser and found his mountain bike clothes in a sweaty heap on the floor, I could just breathe (again, not too deeply) and move them to the hamper.

And when I went to put my son’s clothes in his closet and saw… that he had made his bed (!!!!), I could truly take a deep breath and choose to overlook the dried up, black banana peel stuck to his writing desk.

On December 10th, 2011, I completed my training as a Reiki Master.

Before leaving class, our teacher, the queen of Reiki, Libby Barnett encouraged us to choose a practice and put it into action for the following 21 days.

“Let’s see,” Libby said.  “21 days would bring us to…”

“December 31st,” I called out.

“What a way to complete this year and begin the next!” Libby said.

I was inspired.  I looked around the room at my classmates.  They were busy writing down ideas.  I wanted to come up with something spectacular.  But what?

For the next 21 days I will…. Nothing.

My mind was blank.

The harder I tried to think of something, the blanker my mind became.

There was really only one image that kept coming to mind.

Meg.  My big English Mastiff.

Hi Meg.  Now go away.  I’m trying to think of some amazing daily practice I can do for the next 21 days.

Meg again.

Come on.  Just show me something.

Really?

Is that it?

Walk Meg?

Every day for 21 days?  I already do.

What’s that?  Begin every day walking Meg?

That’s it? Really?

When we broke into smaller groups to practice Reiki and share our 21 day intention, I was almost too embarrassed to say mine out loud.

“For the next 21 days I will….” my group mates all said, filling in the blank with some wonderful, better-the-world idea.

My turn.

“For the next 21 days I will begin each day… walking my dog,” I mumbled.  One woman smiled.  I think she was trying not to laugh.

The next morning I woke late.  I rolled over in bed and flipped on NPR’s weekend edition.  Scott Simon’s soothing voice filled the room.  A hot cup of coffee, a few books and magazines and my Sunday morning routine would be complete.

Meg stood up and shook.  She walked over and put her enormous head on top of the white bed sheet.

One scratch of her ear and I remembered.

“Oh, no.  Not Sunday morning.  I’ll start tomorrow.”

Meg tilted her head.

Grrrrr.  (That was me, not Meg.)

I pulled off the down comforter.  Downstairs, I grabbed my long, thick coat from the closet and buttoned it up, right over my PJs.  Not bothering with socks, I slipped my feet straight into my boots.

Meg was dancing with excitement.

I was shivering with cold.

We went out the back door.  I followed Meg up the back hill.

The cold morning air actually felt good.  I breathed in a hearty gulp.

Ahhhh.

The trees in the morning light were quite beautiful.

I’d never noticed the delicate vines growing along the base of some of the pines.

And the moss covering the top of the hill was a bright green masterpiece.

I lifted my head, looking to the sky.  Sun poured through the clouds, the blue sky brighter than I’d ever seen.

“Glory be to God,” I shouted and then laughed out loud.  I’d never said anything like that in my life.  But I meant it.  Glory be to God.  I’m alive, standing on top of this hill with Meg and so much beauty surrounding me, I couldn’t help but shout out with joy.

I sat down on a large rock and Meg came to sit by my side.

“Thanks, girl,” I said to her.  “This is something.”

We sat for a few minutes more and then went back down the hill.

And so it has been.

Every day.

Long past the recommended 21.

How could I not?

And I wonder, is it me, or has the sky grown more beautiful?

Or maybe, I just needed to start looking up.