Grace in a Dream

I wasn't feeling well when I woke up this morning; not well at all. As much as I'd like to deny the reality, it's pretty common these days. But not unmanageable. After sitting on the bathroom floor for the better part of on hour, feeling the coolness of the tub ledge pressing into my cheek, I ambled back to my bedroom to try to get back to sleep.
The sky wasn't dark anymore, but with all the clouds out today, it wasn't light either. Instead, the faint traces of morning illuminated my walls and ceiling with a soft greyish-blue. I slipped easily between sleep and consciousness and, as often happens in this stage of repose, vivid dream.

Whenever I am fortunate enough to remember my dreams, which isn't often, I am surprised by how many people I can recall seeing. Cousins, siblings, teachers, parents, friends -near to me and so far away, kindred spirits, mere acquaintances. They pass me on the street, show up at church, and wave on their way to class. Sometimes I think I must have seen every soul I've ever met.

I don't remember much except for the most important parts. My cousin Jaime was showing me around my new ward. I think I ran into Heidi, my Welsh friend from when I was ten. At some point, I may have lost a shoe. Railee and I wandered hand-in-hand, like happy children, through the forests and ponds of somewhere. Treetops pierced by the amber glaze of winter evening's light. Hours passed in minutes.

Near the end, I met my favorite visitor, as I often do. There she was: my sweet Risa. Her wasted wrists, her short-cropped hair, her smile and bright eyes, unchanged. I never look for her. She finds me. Often. She giggled and talked animatedly to Railee and me. I don't remember what she said. I wish I could.
The light was getting stronger now, like the day was going in reverse. I could feel the goodbyes coming and it hurt. We sat tangled in each others' arms crying quiet, grateful tears -soaking in our time together before we'd have to open our eyes.

I woke. I wasn't crying. I was breathing in tempo with the ticking clock, feeling her slip from behind my eyelids. Feeling well.

Not Obsessive, Just Compulsive

As I began to empty the freshly-laundered contents of my hamper onto my bed this evening, I prepared my mind for the delicious refuge that is weekend folding. During the week, I tend to get consumed by homework I need to do, exams I need to study for, papers I need to write, classes I need to not be late for. But when I'm folding, I enjoy the blissful retreat of pondering life's eternal mysteries, doing mental check-ups on my loved-ones, and appraising my progress toward my most lofty aspirations. Vacuuming has a similar potential effect, but the temptation to sing loudly without anyone hearing usually wins out.

I folded all of the towels, then the night shirts, and was half-way through the socks when my thoughts turned to Genevieve. Her birthday is coming up. I miss her. I often think of her when I'm folding because she is such an expert folder. Really. I would estimate that about ninety percent of the time, I am dissatisfied with my fold-quality and I itch to fold and re-fold until things are looking right, but my rational brain tells me to just let it go and get the job done. Genevieve applies the same tender care and precision to each fold that we wish we all did. Perhaps those outside of the vanity-folding community may not understand, but a finished stack of t-shirts, carefully arranged by Genevieve, is a beauty to behold. Ultimately, it's not about vanity; I know I'm the only one who sees the contents of my dresser drawers. It's a matter a principle, of putting care into your work and doing something that makes you feel good inside. (And by 'you', I suppose I really mean 'me'.)

So I refolded everything. I took my time. I made beautiful, even, wrinkle-free stacks of towels, night-clothes, and socks. I then proceeded to re-make my bed, complete with hospital corners. I emptied my dresser and made pretty little stacks of running clothes, tank tops, t-shirts and the like -all the while, musing and meditating, reflecting and resolving.

It's a trivial thing, but it's a small way to clear some clutter and clear your mind. I wouldn't suggest obsessively arranging your every possession in an attempt to achieve balance in your life, but you might try listening to that voice that encourages you to try a little harder, to stop cutting corners, to do the job you often wish you did. There are endless applications. Laundry, I have found, is a nice place to start.