Epitaph

"Sure Glad That's Over"  

My husband says he is going to put this statement on my gravestone. (Secretly I think he'd do it too...if it doesn't cost too much) Over the years, he has heard me utter this statement many times.  It is a bit of a mantra.

Saying "Sure Glad That's Over"  may have to do with some project I have to focus on, with  a deadline looming, at which time I will have to have my act together (parties, recitals, presentations) and I feel overwhelmed by the details. I often say it when I am in the middle of a tunnel of activity and can't see the light of day. And sometimes I utter the statement when I have something to do that  I am dreading (dental appointments, music performances)  and know that I just have to muscle through and finish. 

Sometimes the phrase isn't "I'm sure glad that's over", but "I'll be so glad when ____"  I caught myself saying this often in the process of renovating The Pokeaway.  Although these statements are not the same, they have a similar theme - a wish to fast forward Time to a place that is more comfortable, or manageable.

Over the past several years, I have been learning that it is a colossal waste of time to wish your life away with either of these statements.   The fact is, that "When_____________"  may never come. And if it does, I have no guarantee that "when_______________" happens, that I will be as glad as I thought I would be.  Likewise,  the relief of having some big project behind me is only temporary. Other projects will loom quickly enough.  I have to learn to be glad in the 'now' not the 'later.   So I have begun to take both of these statements out of my vocabulary.

Learning to enjoy the stages instead of only being satisfied with the end product.  

I have become conscious of being a 'moment' girl, instead of a 'momentous' girl.  I try harder to enjoy the journey instead of focusing on the destination.  I admit it is a discipline to do so.  I tend to be very impatient and want to reach the destination quickly and  have to talk myself down from my characteristic haste.  One example is the garden. It has taken five years to come to this point of having colour in the 'survival garden'.  Most of the plants were rescued  and needed time to recover.  They have,  and this year, I am reaping the benefits, but it  has required patience and lots of loving talk to encourage them to grow.

As you can see from this picture, there is still lots of work that needs to be done - the weeds need pulling and the bushes need trimming.  I see a difference in me though, than I did five years ago.  It is that while I acknowledge the work that needs to be done, I still enjoy the view without saying 

"I'll be so happy when the garden is perfect".  

There is one problem with taking these statements out of circulation though.  
It means my husband will have to think of a different epitaph for me.

Perhaps he can use the same idea that Ruth Bell Graham had.  

On her gravestone is written

"End of Construction - Thank you for your patience".