This is where I’m at right now

I came home Monday night to 12 C in the house and so turned the heat on, crawled into a wool sweater and sweat pants, and had a cup of tea for breakthrough chills.
I hit the shower soon after that, and turned red like a lobster as I cooked myself in a steam bath.
I’m almost ready to put the electric blanket on my bed—if only I could remember where I stored it back in the spring.
It’s the 24th day of August as I write this, and the crisp night air spills out a pungent pre-autumn fragrance of wet, mulching leaves that I love but am in no way ready for.
Talk to the hand. I have yet to finish unpacking my summer clothes. There’s 16 spring projects and four summer time ones still waiting to be checked off my to-do list and I haven’t yet planted my garden.
But Mother Nature won’t disappoint. She’ll jack the temperature back up to 28 C—but only after I use up the rest of my propane blowing the damp cold out, and after I find the electric blanket and have it tucked snugly on my bed and plugged in.
And oh yes, only after my fall/winter appetite kicks in and I lick the cookie dough bowl clean and eat all the icing I made for the carrot cake.
Yet no matter where I’m at with my to-do list or where the outside temperature sits, Thanksgiving decorations and Hallowe’en witches on brooms already are swinging from the ceiling in department stores.
The inevitable future is relentlessly everywhere. No wonder so many of us lacks the ability to stay in the present moment when so much out there influences us and convinces us to live for anything but today.
When I think about what keeps me “here,” it’s children, sailing, books, and a good one-on-one conversation with someone I care about.
Of particular interest to me are the little people around us who live in the “now,” like my grandson did when he was three years old. As long as he could jump off the bottom step of the staircase, then he could fly and everything was right in his world.
Many grown-ups could take a lesson or two from that primary school of thought.
Little children aren’t consumed by worries of what might happen tomorrow or next week, and they certainly don’t let the overloaded soul get in the way of what’s right in front of them.
What they have in their hands, the little morsels of toast at breakfast or the play doh squeezing through the small holes on the top of the hair mold, are all that matter at the moment.
If they’re happy, the moment is lived in joy and there is nothing else but that. If they’re angry or sad, the moment is lived thoroughly with tears and screaming, and then they leave it behind and move on to the next now.
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that I, too, am trying to learn something here. I do my best to pay attention to living in the present moment, and to listen to my intuition when it whispers to me.
Now if only that whisper would reveal where my electric blanket is hiding.