Just Right

One afternoon during a visit last fall, my mother-in-law asked if I would make a cobbler. As I prepared fruit and pastry, she preheated the oven. When I asked where she set the dial, she responded, “I bake everything at 375. That’s just a good temperature, and I don’t burn anything.”

By that time, I had been living and working in the adult world for nearly thirty-five years, long enough to have a chiropractor on speed dial but not long enough to retire. De-cluttering, downsizing, and decelerating my frenetic daily pace appeal greatly to me, and something about using a consistent setting on a dial struck a chord. When the time came to name my blog, I considered “life at 375,” but quickly decided that consistency is more desire than reality.

I’m reminded of Goldilocks’ foray into the Bear residence, where she pronounced all things belonging to the youngest member of the Bear clan to be “just right.” Ahh… the glorious state of perfection. How I wish I could reside there permanently!

Truth is, no one lives there much of the time, let alone permanently. Forrest Gump’s mama was right; life really is like a box of chocolates. For every “just right” day, there are ten others where the porridge is cold, the chair has splinters, or the bed is lumpy. If one waits for the perfect day, the perfect home, or the perfect opportunity, one will die waiting.

A family friend recently gave us a squirrel feeder. We have enjoyed watching the neighborhood squirrels enjoy their meals in the shade of a persimmon tree in our backyard. Somehow, word of the new eatery got out, and the squirrels now share their feeder with a variety of birds, a chipmunk, and a family of raccoons. Watching these creatures feed and play has been a delight, and a reminder that sometimes the greatest joys can be found in the simplest pleasures.

July in Missouri is hot and humid, and room temperature varies according to the heat index. Air conditioning makes summer bearable, but sometimes I find myself supplementing climate control with folded sheets of paper. Life can be as changeable as the weather and as fragile as a paper fan. If I’m not careful, I find myself in a funk when conditions fall outside of my comfort level.

I laugh at a squirrel in our back yard trying to carry a corn cob the size of his brother to the woods, but his attempts are really no different than my own tendency to bite off more than I can chew. I have reached the age where quality of life is far more important than quantity. Lately I’ve realized the need to adjust my expectations, to try harder to be fully present where I am instead of looking ahead to the next deadline or commitment. I want to live every minute of every day, to navigate the ups and downs like an amusement park ride. I want to step off at the end marveling at the thrill of the experience, head swimming, ready to go another round.  Still, I want to be as content sitting quietly in a chair at home, a pew in a house of worship, or a seat at the conference table.

Not perfect… just right.

Copyright 2016 Sherry A. Hathaway. All rights reserved.