What am I going to do when I grow up?

Aaron's squirreled me away at Big Cedar for two nights, this first without the kids, for rest and sleep and rejuvenation.  I am so thankful.  Big Cedar is inexpressibly beautiful, if a bit "Big Fish" (Q's word for Bass Pro) overdecorated.  The valley dazzles with the lake below and the steep hillsides and tonight's stormclouds racing around punctured by flashes of orange lightning.  I don't even care that it's raining and we haven't been able to enjoy the pools, etc.  The scenery is just stunning.

But... I'm not cooperating by sleeping.  The steriods meant to ease the inflammation in my lungs keep me awake, sometimes all night.  We're on day 8 now, with four more days to go, and it's hard to keep going on such little sleep.  There are dark baggy circles under my eyes... a first for me.  Nothing to be done about it-- lung health trumps shuteye at this point-- so I'll stay up a bit, till my eyelids grow heavy again, and head back into the bed to see if I can grab another few hours of sleep before morning.

He asked me at dinner tonight what I'd like to do when the kids are off to college.  We're years from that, and I was a little flummoxed by the question.  Um... "something creative," I said, "something fun.  I really would like a serious garden...."

I'm a little surprised by my own lack of vision.

I do have one little idea, though:  I would love to somehow be involved in recording the history and music and culture of our region.  Some of my most electric moments, when I felt most fascinated and most thrilled, have been when I was learning and connecting to Ozark history.  Dr. Bob Cochran's Folk and Popular Music class in college, discovering the wonder that is Winslow's Ozark Folkways, Still on the Hill's Ozark project, hearing stories about the old times and ways that Aaron hears as part of his work with local seniors.  All of this feels like a tuning fork that makes me quiver inside somehow.

That's a weird statement.  Ever feel like you were made FOR something?  This is about as close as I get to that, other than the simple but intense joy of having a husband and children of my own and the spiritual peace that comes from knowing Christ.

Ever since we returned from Florida, I can feel my roots growing into this place as surely as if there were taproots coming off the tips of my fingers and toes.  My genealogical  roots are a few hours further south, but I feel a connection to these hills that I can't really explain.  My mother-in-law feels it too, and we've talked about it:  this is HOME, and our soul rings truest here.

So, late at night, in this overly woodsy little condo, being stared at by various local dead animals on the walls, I got up to write this down.  Who knows, really, what the future will bring?  But perhaps:

Something about history.
Something about the Ozarks.
Something about writing.
Something about music?
Something about stories.
Preserving it before it is lost.

Food for thought, anyway.  We'll see what comes.

Rain and mutinae in the midst of the night.

The rain just started falling, softly, with thunder rumbling far-off in the background.  It's 3 am, but I've had a night's worth of sleep, having gone to bed just after we put the kids down.  A headache woke me, but Alleve's beaten it back (or else "faster EFT," a bizarre little method which I'm experimenting with but not so confidently that I don't still take the Alleve)... so I have space to hear the rainrops and feel thankfulness, to feel the silence of the house without the guilt of being awake so late/early.

The chalk sticks the kids left outside on the sidewalk may be ruined.  I guess there's a lesson in that, so I won't scuttle out there in the downpour trying to find them.  (I warned them to pick them up today but I think we all got distracted.)

Parched, from six days without my best friend and love, six days of company staying and adventures happening and kids needing and there not being a scrap of time to myself that didn't have a necessary task attached.  It was wonderful to see friends, celebrate a family wedding, help with the cake, go swimming, play tourist, and cook for a houseful, but goodness am I bone-tired.  I wish I could tumble back into bed for another four hours of sleep, but at the moment that's not likely. 

My Kindle's MIA after this week's craziness.  I have no idea where I put it.  Last saw it in the passenger's seat of the car, which worries me.  Did someone snatch it?  (Random thoughts at three a.m. ... this will not be a deep post.)

Our little garden's a maze of beautiful flowers, gorgeous but fruitless okra, corn with unharvested ears slowly drying, and bermuda grass rampantly overtaking it all.  I want a cool kidless morning to spend restoring it, but August in Arkansas does not lend itself to cool mornings.  September will do, and I'll have to fight back a jungle by then, but that's the nature of the beast.

My children and I have had a glorious summer of swimming lessons, pools, theme parks, bikes, crafts, travel, family, and fun.  I feel both triumphant and wrung out like a dishrag.  Bring on the predictability of school season, please.

Ah, the rain's stopped.  Had a feeling the thunder wasn't close enough to bring much to us.