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Take a Breath …

My children quietly ask for my time. I wish that they would shout for it. My son half-looks at a book, and half-looks at me. You would think that even thick, old me would get that kind of hint.

Well, now I can take a deep breath and maybe get around to all the things that have not been yelling at me. The football, volleyball and cross country seasons are over. A large chunk of farming chores are over, though never all. Tourism used to be completely over when school started, though now some group or other takes turns so someone is playing tourist during all times of the year.

Yes, it is deep breath time, time to smell the roses, time to relax a bit. But, I had better not get too comfortable. Girls’ basketball, boys’ basketball and wrestling are starting their practices. Thanksgiving is racing through the calendar. My hometown has a Glow ‘N Go light parade over Thanksgiving weekend which I don’t want to miss. I might even get talked into helping. West river deer season has barely started, and no way I am going to miss that.

Christmas is coming. (Please note that I did not call it the holiday season or some such thing.) Last minute shopping or making of gifts is for unorganized people. Hey, don’t look at me that way. There are other types of preparations, of course. A community Christmas cantata is already in practice. Churches are have fund drives to assist those whose Christmases may not be as joyful otherwise. School concerts are scheduled. Not even the Grinch himself could miss a concert that his child was in. Instead of taking a deep breath, I am out of breath just thinking about everything that I want to do or should do.

The newspaper is full of anniversaries, birthdays and other causes for celebration. Card showers, baby showers, come-and-go showers – everybody must be so clean this time of year. If I see another announcement for a free kitten or puppy, I ... well ... maybe one day my kids will win out and we will get one. People were trying to get rid of zucchini, now it’s kittens; I wonder if there is a connection. Thinking of that, there is supposed to be a lutefisk supper sometime soon.

Nobody who even remotely knows me is naive enough to say that there is nothing to do and that they are bored. Just try to keep up.

These things yell at me. These things must be done, and are things that I want to do. It is hard to hear anything else. There is no room for anything else, though I would probably somehow make room.

I take a deep breath. The roar fades. I can hear something else, but barely. It is a whisper. It calls to me. I look around. My daughter is quietly finishing her homework. My other daughter is quietly making cookies. My son quietly half-looks at a book. Now I hear what I should hear. I quietly gather them to me and I softly read a story to them.

Now, that is my kind of deep breath. Even thick, old me can sometimes hear the whisper of what is truly worth hearing.