Jackson

Last Thursday: I'm Sitting on a bench near a bend in the Des Moines River as a stranger strolls past on his morning route and says "Hello! How are you today?" Surprised by him breaking my bubble, I give my usual "Good!" But instead of the way I often gloss over whatever's nagging at me, I realized that I really meant "good."

I had a coffee in my hand and the river laid out before me, a silvery pipe cleaner twisted in curves. I've always loved water. It's such a mystery, its simple beauty belying a science project of atoms and elements. And I love the way it can stop my momentum, pulling me in to gaze at its fluid acrobatics. The way the Des Moines rolled, like a liquid slinky falling over itself into each crest and trough, hypnotized me.

Funny how this seated reverie seemed to be more than enough when I usually spend my days chasing after some proof of my own usefulness, whether that's money or praise or a stack of clean dishes. When I lie down in bed at night, my motionless state is at odds with the spinning in my head, plans of how I can finish all of my "to do" list, live up to everyone's expectations, make life make sense. But I won't, and I can't and it doesn't (all things you're never supposed to admit). And as I stared at the water and tried to think of nothing at all, I found myself okay with existing for a little bit outside of what I might do to be productive and perfect.

Though the water was fairly green, its movement scattered shots of sunlight, glittering like precious metal. I was delighted at how it could be so full of sediment and be at the same time so brilliant. Deciding to sit just one more minute before putting my feet back on the path, I decided I could live in Jackson this way, taking morning walks by the river with an occasional latte. At least in summer.

For now I'll continue to strive and fail and work and hold my breath for those moments when I can let myself sit still. Just the same, I enjoyed this stop on my journey, a chance to reflect on the abundant beauty in a morning spent so richly on nothing at all.

Betty Would Not Appreciate These Place Settings

I collect Betty Crocker coookbooks. Not anything past 1969, but the old ones with recipes for things I probably wouldn't even eat. I just like to pick them up and read the notes on etiquette and place settings, to peruse the menus she has all made up for you and the substitutions you could use in a pinch. Something about the order and thrift speaks to the very heart of me.

I spend enough time with the recipes that I've taken to talking about Betty in conversation. For me, she's a good friend who is annoyingly adept at something I love but have never managed to master. Even as I look to her for advice I roll my eyes at some of the things she'll do in the name of hostessing.

I thought of Betty today as I cut paper towels in half for napkins and paired mismatched flatware with a rag-tag collection of plates and glasses. She would not look kindly on my using such an assortment of shapes and colors. But it was all neatly placed, with room for Nathan and five other AGCO interns to eat tacos.

I have off work this week, so I jumped in the car with Nathan Monday afternoon and now here I am. I was a little nervous to make lunch for all these people I didn't know, but let's be honest, I didn't have much else going on. Yesterday I went so far as to look up the theme songs from some of my favorite childhood cartoons.

Sleeping in was first on my list this morning, and only sort of by accident. Peeling open my eyelids at 9:30, I realized I should be making Janel's ice cream bar desert right about now if I wanted it to firm up like it should. After jumping out of bed, everything came naturally. I was cleaning up breakfast dishes, then dicing tomatoes, then realizing that Betty would have died of mortification if her bathroom looked like mine when a guest walked in.

Sinking in to the rhythm of every childhood Saturday morning, I wiped the sink clean, replacing each item as I passed my rag over its place on the counter. I scrubbed the faucet until it shone silver again and finished up by giving the toilet a good dusting. It felt so good to take something dirty and make it clean, so straightforward and simple.

I proceeded to finish setting up my taco buffet, placing all the napkins and silverware on the table and unwrapping the hamburger. Noticing that I had neglected myself, I jumped in the shower with half an hour to spare. I even straightened the sections of my hair and brushed on a dusting of makeup. Wouldn't want to make my husband's coworkers think he married someone who sleeps all day and never showers!

The hamburger was slow in browning, and I got a little nervous that it wouldn't be perfectly done when they arrived. I babysat it, constantly turning over the browned parts to keep it heating evenly as I added taco seasoning. And as a truck pulled in the drive carrying the much-awaited lunch party, I looked down to see that I was still wearing my work shirt. Hustling to put on a nice black tank top, I slid in to the kitchen just as they walked in the door. I hope I made you proud, Betty. Despite the place settings.