Take it Easy, but Take It

You would think that living a carfree life would be a one-way ticket to slowing down and taking it easy. However, I still find myself rushing about, only for me, rushing about takes on an air of comic absurdity.

“Come on,” I tell the kids, “we’ve got a half hour to get where we going. Get your shoes on!” Then it’s off to our immensely long Family Triple, usually with the Bike R Evolution trailer attached. I thrash away at the pedals and head up the hill from our house. Soon, sweat is pouring down my face, dripping onto my glasses. The children, on the other hand, are experts at taking it easy. The sit on the back of the triple singing and talking to each other. We must be a sight.

Over the years, I have learned not to speed up when I see a light turn yellow in the distance. I am trying to learn not to attempt to race along when I have two children and a load of groceries on the bike. My attempt to relax consists in imagining I’m out for a pleasant ride in the European countryside. Why European? I don’t know. I’ve never even been to Europe.

At home, I have a similar problem taking it easy. Last week, I went back to getting up at four in the morning in order to write, read the paper, and have breakfast before the children woke up. As long as I have about two hours to myself before I see the kids in the morning, I do OK. But I was also staying up until eleven putting touchup paint on the Peugeot frame. I meant to go to sleep, but I just couldn’t help it. I’d get ready to go to sleep, and then I would sand a little bit, and then I would think, “hell, I might as well put on another layer of touchup paint.” So, between staying up late and waking up early, by the end of the week, I was deranged through lack of sleep — I would walk by the bike on my way to do something else and start standing, and then I would stand at the sink and think about doing the dishes, dehydrating apples, and canning peaches. Fifteen minutes later, I would still be standing there. Next, I would find myself standing in the backyard watching the chickens and the bees, so I would go back toward the kitchen to wash the dishes, and I would become reeled in by touching up the bike again.

This pattern is not at all what I imagine for myself.

I love the scenes in Islands in the Stream, where the father is out painting, and the kids are playing around the beach, and they are all happy, creative, and, above all, calm. Of course, Hemingway’s characters always seem to have a cook or a servant or someone wandering around. I love continuity in my day, and I would like to move smoothly from morning to night without my usual feelings of panic and, well, panic. I have always, I believe, imagined my life as a series of set pieces: me sipping coffee in the café, me out on a thirty mile bike ride, me hiking in the mountains with the children, me sitting by the fire reading at the end of the day. Instead, I’m charging up that hill on the triple trying to get through some obligation or chore. In fact, I would say that is my central problem — I am always trying to finish what’s at hand so I can do something rewarding. I am always waiting for the moment I can bike off to Madrid without the kids or go for a quiet hike or sit at the café. And that moment is always too far in the future and is never long enough when it comes. Laura and I never get out together as much as I would like, and when we are sitting there talking, the babysitter meter is always running. As a parent, I feel proud of what I do, but I definitely don’t enjoy it on a consistent basis. That seems to be true of every at-home-parent I know. It’s the dirty little secret of becoming a parent.

In the meantime, maybe I should just take a time management class. Today, a friend came over and we dumped a swarm from my hive — yes I’m still having swarming issues — into a hive she brought over which she will pick up tonight when all the bees are abed. I should feel a sense of accomplishment, but I still have to do the dishes, make lunch, grocery shop, and think of something for dinner. The apples and the peaches are still here, waiting to be processed, and the peaches are starting to rot. The chicken coop needs to be cleaned. It all seems never ending.

Luckily, I DO get to bicycle wherever I go. It helps to quell the panicky feeling I am always trying to deal with. And after the initial rush to get up the hill, I do take it easy, and the rest of the ride is always a pleasure, with the Fall flowers blooming, and the children singing behind me.