Picking Up the Pace

There's a certain pace to people and places. A dear friend of mine is like edgy, improvised jazz - always in a hurry, driving fast, walking quickly, and always against the wind. Another ambles, taking his time and taking in the sights. I know people who remind me of classical quintets, stately and slightly understated with suit and tie manners. Others are like ragtime, quirky and upbeat, sometimes lacking harmony but always full of spirit. Still others are seductive and down home, like slow blues. Many are ragged around the edges and seem to be just a little twangy.

Partial as I am to all of them, the slow blues is my first choice and I miss it. Keeping body and soul together with two jobs has forced me to pick up my pace and lately I seem to be running late most of the time and more frantic than I'd like to be. The telephone rings and I have to take a second or two to remember where I am and how I'm supposed to answer.I find myself trying to manage several things at once and feeling like my life has turned into a juggling act. I'm forced to create time for myself, for the music I dearly love, for a few quiet moments and I sometimes feel like a squirrel on a high wire. A new novel by a favorite author sits unread, a sweater in need of drycleaning hangs and gathers dust, the mail piles up unopened. In between runs for kitty litter and cigarettes I try to remember to watch the gas gauge, charge my cell phone, defrost the refrigerator, not run out of coke. There are to-do lists crammed into my pockets and little notes to myself scrawled on backs of envelopes and sticky notes. I'm too scattered to be organized and I imagine that this is how confetti must feel. I despair at the state of the house and am relieved that no one visits.
The windows cry out for washing, the carpeting wants a good steam cleaning, the mini blinds need replacing most desperately and the bathtub needs re-caulking. Outside, the crepe myrtle is completely out of control, growing at an alarming speed and threatening to take over the entire front of the house while the latticework is overrun with weeds and vines. I fear the wild things that I think may be taking root behind it - I know for a certainty that the neighborhood cats have taken up residence in and around the ductwork and underneath the back deck.

So I give up the slow blues in favor of a mad dance with time. I pick up my pace and get on with it, hurrying to get to the next thing and the next place and doing my best not to lose myself in the process. You have to dance to the music that's playing even if it's someone else's selection on the jukebox.