It’s always a battle to get enough work done so a mom can back down the driveway with a clear conscience. Even as I drive up the canyon and around the reservoir, I have to stamp down a mix of giggles and guilt. They’re doing their best to rise in me. I am on my way to a solo writing retreat.
I was supposed to have one of my adult children with me, but they came down sick the morning of. Nothing serious. But, I am secretly tickled that it’s too late to change my plans.
On the drive, the music and audiobooks stay unplayed. I know from past experience that silence must reign in these precious hours alone. I take a long breath and remind myself to slow down my daily sprint and instead just stroll through the next 48 hours.
I pull up to the cabin with a basket of food and tote bags full of books. With the furnace bumped up, the lamps lit, my boots kicked off, slippers slipped on, and a blanket-of- choice plucked from the stash . . . I set up my space.
Over the years I have learned that to get creative I require a block of back-to-back hours of solitude. In that blessed time and space, I find clarity and productivity like I rarely enjoy.
My mind drifts back in history when, as a 14-year-old girl, I had been one of the mass of spectators in London at the Beating Retreat military ceremony, overseen by Queen Elizabeth II. This celebration dates back to 1690 when the military was given orders to beat drums and parade through the streets to mark the end of a day of combat. The lowering of flags and the closing of gates signaled to the citizenry that it was time to rest.
What a concept. to preserve a great nation one has to occasionally retreat? interesting. Could it be that to preserve a family, a parent occasionally needs to do the same?
So often I succumb to the decades-old pressure to constantly set a good example for my children. It might be a number of virtues I am trying to model: tidiness, efficiency, productivity, or purpose. Unfortunately, it consistently results in wearing out everyone around me. I’ve bought into the fear that if I let my guard down, even for a minute, I’ll never get the troops back in line.
As a foot soldier in WWII, my grandfather marched his way through France. When we were young, he would tell the grandchildren that those troops would be so exhausted that as soon as the commanding officer would yell out permission to halt and rest, they’d be asleep before they hit the ground. Right there in line. Packs still on their backs.
As kids, we couldn’t believe it. As a mother, I totally believe it. On my retreat I don’t wash my dishes. I leave off the makeup and jewelry. I count a slow stretch or a walk to the creek as my day’s work-out. I block the urge to send off rapid replies to texts or email notifications from those who think they need me. I nap when my eyes droop and I lay there musing when they open again.
The inconsequential parts of life fall away. The important parts rise in my consciousness.
The speed of this life doesn’t show signs of slowing. Our grandmothers—and then our mothers—warned us: “Don’t wear yourselves out like we did. Rest.”
Perhaps it’s time I teach the next generation a few more things by example. I believe I’ll start with how to beat a retreat.
– Roxanne Thayne
Roxanne Thayne is learning that the world doesn’t need her to help it keep spinning. She’s happy to swap some pride for peace, control for comfort, and busyness for grandbabies. Read more from her at www.roxannethayne.com