An advertisement’s tag-line caught my attention this morning: “It’s the giving season.” There was a time such an acknowledgement—that generosity and altruism has temporal limits—would have raised my ire. Time has tempered me, I suppose. Today, seeing that not-so-cleverly-expressed suggestion—that it is “time” for investments in expressions of care, appreciation, and love—just depresses me. A few years ago, a few of my acquaintances recognized the unpleasantness of the “seasonal” nature of giving by jointly agreeing to make giving to loved ones and to strangers in need a monthly affair. I liked the idea…a little…but it seemed a bit contrived. Yet the alternative, I think, to scheduling such stuff is to change one’s nature so that reminders to be generous and altruistic are unnecessary. I prefer the latter. Unfortunately, I only preach it; I have thus far been unable to make myself become the person who practices it.
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I slept much longer than usual last night. I went to bed very early and, in spite of waking several times (beginning at 3), I went back to sleep. I got up after 6. And I’ve been dawdling ever since. I think I was in bed for 10 or 11 hours. Sometimes, I feel the need to sleep much longer than usual; perhaps it’s necessary for me to occasionally recharge. I’m still dawdling. We plan to go to church. First my S-I-L will visit for awhile. And I still must shower and shave and get dressed in clothes suitable for public viewing—paint-stained sweats and flip-flops would be frowned upon by even the church’s progressive congregation.
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The only leaves I see on the trees outside my window are bright orange. A few evergreens brighten the scene, as well. The ground is littered with brown leaves. Some people might the view outside my window as drab; I think it is beautiful.
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Time for me to hurry. Though I am not in the mood to hurry, I must scurry, nonetheless.
