Island Time

This last weekend I spent some quality time with my grandmother down at St. Simons Island, Georgia, staying with her while my grandfather was away on a ministry trip (or as Grandma was fond of putting it when people asked where Jerry was, "Oh, he's in prison.").  I was excited most about spending some time with my grandmother with a small side of excitement regarding fresh fish.  

And then Island Time hit me in a slow but solid wave, leaving me scuttling in my steps to find my footing, like trying to walk to your seat while the bus takes a fast corner.  The tempo was immediately different than the constant, demanding urgency I have felt for, well, the past three months.  I had to tell myself a couple of times aloud "you're not in a hurry" when that anxiety came creeping back while brushing my teeth or putting on my shoes.  Because I wasn't in a hurry.  We needed to eat at some point and run an errand or two, but time was purely ours.

Weird, right? 

Grandma and I sketched what places we might want to go to with no fixed demands.  We returned back to the house to rest before heading out again to dinner.  There were points when Grandma felt a little frustrated with herself, for getting tired or moving slowly, but that, too, was a wonderful blessing--I didn't even need to walk somewhere quickly, carrying on at a pace she was comfortable with and focusing instead on enjoying the other's company.  

Apart from the airport, all else was slow, steady, and calm. 

I found time to write a blog post and a half and read a few chapters of a book I'd been meaning to read.  Naps found me after we'd made it back to the house in the afternoon.  There were some different things to think about when I wasn't trying to focus on all of the places I needed to be or the household elements I should be addressing (sidebar:  only about six more boxes to go!).  Breathe.  Be a human being instead of a human doing. 

Like I said, weird. 

Norway had leisure time.  Returning from Norway did, too, but these were temporary, for an hour or two before moving on to the next thing, whatever that meant for that day.  The tempo of the Island, by contrast, is agonizingly slow.  I felt aware of my space in time, of my body in space, and what those quiet parts of my mind can sound like. 

Time is/was unstuck.  So was I.  So then, too, was a great deal of worry.  For me, this led to two different thoughts:  things will still be there to do when I get back, and why do I carry some of those elements in the first place?

So now, all I can really do is shrug.  While writing this, neither seemed to matter. 

Both thoughts are true in different ways, where I've already addressed a couple of those pieces (after a short stint in Delta's purgatory of cancellations) and continue to think about the latter.  But what I choose to take with me from St. Simons Island is the time I spent getting to know my grandmother better and a fraction of that particular flavor of calm.

...and maybe some poundage from Key Lime Pie.