My morning routine consists of waking up to freshly brewed coffee, thanks to my DH. He is out the door for work before I even begin to stir, but I think of him first thing when I wake up (I do, Sweetie!), grateful for the pot of coffee that awaits me.
I pour the first cup, add sugar and a healthy blop of cream, feed Lilly a biscuit, and then head to my favorite chair to choose from a selection of devotional books that I keep close by. Sometimes I have to fight the urge to put the TV on and catch up on the morning news, which is never a good idea, because then before I know it, an hour has passed by.
I wake up slowly, I always have. I'm fortunate these days that I can take my time easing into the day. After devotions, I get dressed and start some chores. This is where I tend to be a bit scattered and could use a better routine.
Yesterday, the Home Sanctuary post linked to an older post about "messy perfectionists." Boy, can I ever relate to that term, coined by Rachel. It's the art of putting off doing things, because we don't have the time or the energy to do it perfectly. I'll wipe the kitchen counter up later, when I have time to scour the sink the way it needs to be done. I'll put that basket of clothes away after I get my closet organized the way it should be. I'm so good at that. Rachel advocates doing small things and calling it 'good enough.'
My grandfather had another phrase for the same kind of thing. A fireman who provided for a family of nine during the Depression in Newark, New Jersey, my grandpa was a man who got things done. In the early 40's he acquired a piece of land in rural New Jersey, and set to making a dream come true. Building a house, putting in gardens, and raising chickens. He didn't have a lot of money, but he had a vision and the determination to make it all happen. For building materials, he gathered wood and supplies from an old house that was torn down nearby. When things came out a bit wonky, his favorite phrase was, "A blind man would be only too glad to see it."
My family still remembers stories of the outhouse he built using old doors for several of the sides. I still laugh when I remember him telling about his friends, who would try to find their way out, late at night after a good beer fest.
That was my PopPop. A man who did things his own way and got the job done. While I tend to be more of an observer in life, I have to remind myself that I have his genes, and if I dig deep enough, I can figure out a way to get the job done, even if it's not perfect. Whether it's a chore that I'm faced with, a story I want to write or any kind of challenge, the first step is to begin.
Me and PopPop and Dusty (1959)