​In recent months, we’ve all had to adapt in ways we never expected: new ways of shopping, socializing, working, entertaining ourselves (jigsaw puzzles, anyone?). With Ray and me both retired, the changes weren’t as drastic for us as for many people. While there have been challenges, our adjustment has been relatively smooth, for which I’m grateful.
 
But this home-centered span of time has also shown me how un-adaptable I am in other parts of my life and how I’ve been holding onto expectations that don’t square with reality.

​Take my activity patterns, for example. For most of my life, I was an early riser. During my working years, both as an employee and as a freelancer, I usually got up at 5 a.m. and started work at 7:30 or 8:00. For a while after I retired I continued waking up and getting out of bed by 5:00 or 6:00, whether I wanted to or not. I seemed to be hard-wired to get up and get going early.
 
In the past year or so, though, I’ve started sleeping till 7:00, 7:30, and sometimes even later. I feel like I need the sleep, like my body demands it, especially if I’ve done something intensely physical the day before, like a long hike or hours of outdoor work. 

​Yet every time I get up later than 6:00, I scold myself for being such a slug, and I still try to keep to a routine that’s based on getting up earlier: meditating and doing yoga before breakfast, then making and eating breakfast, doing some reading over breakfast, cleaning up my dishes and myself, getting dressed, making the bed, doing whatever else needs doing, like taking out the mail, and still being ready to start the day’s main activities (writing and book promotion in the morning; chores, errands, and recreation in the afternoon) by 8:30 or so.  
​
 So every day starts with this ridiculous and totally unnecessary tension about keeping to a ridiculous and totally unrealistic schedule.

​I’ve experimented with various alternatives—putting off yoga until later in the day, meditating before bed instead of first thing in the morning, streamlining this or that.
 
But I’m starting to see the problem isn’t with the routines themselves, it’s with my attitude toward them. So what if some mornings I get a late start and only have time to write for half an hour instead of an hour or two? Maybe I’ll make up for it another day. And if not, so what? Yes, I feel better on days when I write and I feel off-kilter when I don’t—writing is my happy pill, after all. And yes, I get great satisfaction from seeing the word count and page count increase by the day. But if the world comes to an end, I doubt it will be because I wrote 100 words today instead of 1,000.

​My reality has shifted, and it’s high time to adapt to the new one instead of clinging to the old one. The truth is, I’ll probably never again routinely get up at 5:00. So why not try to see my sleeping-later habit for what it is—a response to a physical need, not a sign of sloth--and just enjoy the luxury of being able to structure my days around it.
 


​Which brings me to another realization about reality. Structure is something else I sometimes feel conflicted about. As I wrote in a 2016 blog post, we all have our own tolerance levels for chaos and structure, and finding the right balance between them is crucial for creativity.

​As I’ve been examining how to adjust my usual routines to my unpredictable sleep patterns, I’ve questioned whether I still need a routine at all. After all, I’m retired. Most of the things on my to-do list are want-to-dos, not have-to-dos. Why not just do what I feel like when I feel like it?
 
I’ve thought a lot about that lately, and I’ve come to this conclusion: There may be a time to ditch my routines, but this isn’t it. Experts say having consistent daily and weekly routines gives us a sense of certainty in these uncertain times. The trick is to make your days consistent, with enough variety to keep boredom at bay.

Sounds like exactly what I’m aiming for as I try to adapt to new realities. I’ll let you know how that works out.
 
Have you adapted in any surprising ways over the past months? Have you discovered aspects of your life you can let go of and others you still need to hold onto?

If you've been a HeartWood subscriber for a while,  you may remember the Last Wednesday Wisdom feature that appeared on the last Wednesday of every month. When I switched to publishing blog posts only twice a month--on the first and third Wednesdays--that feature went away, except for occasional appearances in months with an extra Wednesday.

During these troubled times, though, I couldn't think of anything better to offer than a collection of wisdom from other minds. I hope you find comfort and inspiration here.

Life is glorious, but life is also wretched. It is both. Appreciating the gloriousness inspires us, encourages us, cheers us up, gives us a bigger perspective, energizes us. We feel connected. But if that's all that's happening, we get arrogant and start to look down on others . . . On the other hand, wretchedness--life's painful aspect--softens us up considerably. . . but if we were only wretched . . . we'd be so depressed, discouraged, and hopeless that we wouldn't have enough energy to eat an apple. Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. They go together.
-- Pema Chödrön

You only get one chance. You have one journey through life; you cannot repeat even one moment or retrace one footstep. It seems that we are meant to inhabit and live everything that comes toward us.
-- John O'Donohue

Prejudice of any kind implies that you are identified with the thinking mind. It means you don't see the other human being anymore, but only your own concept of that human being. To reduce the aliveness of another human being is already a form of violence.
​-- Eckhart Tolle

When you can't find someone to follow, you have to find a way to lead by example.
​-- Roxane Gay

Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.
-- Rabindranath Tagore

My sense of the holy . . . is bound up with the hope that someday, any millennium now, my remote descendants will live in a global civilization in which love is pretty much the only law.
​-- Richard Rorty

We have to fight them daily, like fleas, those many small worries about the morrow, for they sap our energies.
-- Etty Hillesum

You may not control all the events that happen to you, but you can decide not to be reduced by them.
​-- Maya Angelou

You say to yourself when you are at liberty how desperate you are for your solitude, you love your periods of solitude, you scramble for it, you find ways of being by yourself so you can do what you want with yourself and your mind. But when you're deprived of it for a lengthy period then you value human companionship.
​-- Wole Soyinka

In the last installment of HeartWood, I wrote about some of the ways I've been filling my unexpected free time during the weeks of social distancing and Stay Home - Stay Safe. In this installment, I'm giving other folks a chance to share what they've been doing. And what a variety of things they've come up with!

Check them out!

​I've been puttering around with a few drawings and one of Eldon eating soup.

We have been watching too much TV, Netflix and Amazon Prime.  Also, managing to work out at least three times a week. ​

And we're enjoying housebound happy  hours with the help of our new margarita maker!

​I have joyfully been working in my garden (look how big the garlic is already!) and last week canned a couple gallons of maple syrup. Keeping very busy around here even though my regular artsy muse took off for parts unknown.

Last Tuesday was a special Covid day. I got to hang out 2 loads of wash and get out the very quiet weed whip and head down to the river for some enjoyable work. I also got the clippers out and cut the grasses out of the iris bed.

Many games of Scrabble have been going on in our house, and each night now we seem to gravitate to The Newshour on PBS. Making a call to a friend or family member is an almost daily event. Meditation is becoming a regular part of my day and I hope it continues.

When I'm not patrolling the area in my role as self-appointed neighborhood watchman, I've been spending time in my workshop. My latest project is making hand-turned bottle stoppers.

I also created a fairy fire station for Camp Newaygo's Virtual Enchanted Forest event last month.

And like Cindi and Dale, we're enjoying home-centered happy hours, too.

​One thing I spent too much time on was adapting my (famous) lecture on the Beatles for an online popular music class at the University of Washington using Zoom - weird not to be able to engage directly with the students. Also, I gave blood.

​After initial quarantine tasks such as cleaning out drawers and closets, the promise of birth, growth and renewal overcame the need for order. We talk everyday: me and these little giving friends who awaken like babes from a nap. They give me hope.

And every morning I take a barefoot walk into my "woods" - about a dozen trees at the end of our drive - to see how my shady native plants are faring.

Stay home and stay safe was a gift in some ways. My gardens have never been so well tended. Really enjoyed knowing the plants are going to good homes.

The most beneficial thing (much better than vacuuming, which I have not done) has been the free Coursera from Yale called "The Science of Well-Being." It's really about what makes us truly happy and how to get there. Spoiler alert: it's not what our culture tells us.
 
Also, these days it's a bit disconcerting to see the non-virtual students sitting close to each other and hear them coughing!  (Has anyone else been yelling at their tv screens? It can be the most innocuous old sitcom and I'm all, "Don't shake hands! OMG, now you're hugging each other! OMG, OMG, OMG!" I'm better at this now, but it was rough for a while there.)
 
I have been knitting up a storm - charity knitting, mostly with "legacy" yarn I inherited from a friend's stash. I also made miles and miles of chain stitch cord and mailed it off to a friend who is converting her fabric stash into face masks she's giving away. (She and housemate totally ran out of elastic, old t-shirts and potholder loops. Their dining room is like a small factory.)
 
I think doing things for others is especially good just now, though it was more than sobering to consider that the hats, sweaters, and ponchos I was making for the Navajo school kids might . . . well, you know.
 
I dusted off my elderly Kindle and learned that, with a newer software download, it is Way Less Annoying. I've read and read and read!
 
I have been going through my DVD collection and Watching All The Bonus Features. The directors' commentaries for Bend It Like Beckham, Seabiscuit, and Monsoon Wedding were almost better than the films.
 
This last one might seem counterintuitive.
 
It started when a Facebook friend (a friend of friends in real life, one of the few FB friends I've not met) shared a post from the Holocaust and Humanity Center in Cincinnati. They were having a virtual book club. First up was Elie Wiesel's Night, which I had never had the courage to read by myself. Being part of a group was helpful. The next book was Anne Frank's diary, which I had read, so I fired up the Kindle and read Francine Prose's book about the book and its author. Wow! I learned all kinds of stuff.
 
I also learned how much I swear when figuring out the arcane magic tricks of the multiple websites required to borrow e-books not owned by my library.
 
I did not, however, curse during any of my several calls to the library staff who helped me gain access. I think one of them wanted to, though; that episode was something goofy in the library's circ software.
 
It was all worth it in the end, though, AND WHAT ELSE DID I HAVE TO DO? A jigsaw puzzle of Easter eggs, shaped like an egg. Also coloring, knitting, and - OK! - vacuuming, like that's gonna happen.

This organization, the Holocaust and Humanity Center, offers all kinds of online sessions. There's one later this week about preserving your family artifacts: photos and other things. (They have a website and multiple FB pages.)

AND, because I attended a bunch of those, I got invited to a series of Holocaust survivor presentations from a community college in New Jersey that is absolutely inspiring. They tell the tale, but the focus is on resilience.  
 
Also MSU Extension "Cabin Fever" presentations. The most hilarious thing there is that I forwarded the follow-up email with its many citations to a cousin, who replied, "I was 'there' too!"  
 
And the mourning dove chicks on the front porch have flown the coop. Stupid birds! But I did learn that just before they fledge, a normal human being will be convinced that their no good rotten birdbrain parents have abandoned them. That was good to know, because it was gonna be one Huge Moral Dilemma whether I fed those things or not. Last I saw them, they (two of them) were standing up in the flower pot under the porch light and looking like it was time to steal the car keys and light out for the Dairy Queen.
 
WHAT WOULD WE BE WITHOUT THE INTERNET IN ALL OF THIS? Mostly insane. I might even be vacuuming.
 
Another thing I have done is re-read Salinger's story "For Esme - with love and squalor" or whatever it's called. The whole thing is online as a pdf.
 
It has come up in multiple conversations (because I MAKE IT), because I firmly believe that the ONLY thing that we must do during this time is "survive with our faculties intact." Job One, right there.  ​

I realize the past couple of months have been anything but a holiday for many people: those who’ve faced illness themselves or cared for ailing family members, those who’ve lost loved ones, others who have lost their jobs or whose professions put them in harm’s way. My heart goes out to all those people and everyone else who has been negatively impacted by COVID-19.
 
I feel fortunate that so far, at least, this time of isolation has been a kind of respite for me. When it all began, back in mid-March, I thought to myself: Well, I always wanted to go on a creativity retreat in some peaceful place. Here’s my chance!

​And for the most part, that’s how I’ve approached it. Here in our quiet patch of woods, with no outside commitments, I’ve been free to focus on projects I find it hard to concentrate on when I’m always on the go. And a funny thing has happened: The further we get into Stay Home – Stay Safe, the more protective I’ve become of my free time and solitude.
 
Like most people during this time, I’ve been deluged with a mind-boggling number of invitations to Facebook Live events, Zoom gatherings, free webinars, and other virtual happenings. My internet service’s dwindling data allowance won’t permit me to join in most of those, and while I truly regret having to turn down some invitations—especially From the Heart Yoga’s Zoom classes and chats with my yogini sisters—I haven’t minded passing up the rest. They’ve felt like distractions, in the same way that outside commitments often do.
 
So how have I been spending my precious retreat time? Let me count the ways . . . 

I’ve been working steadily on my novel-in-progress. Rather than spinning out pages, I decided to take a more disciplined approach, guided by the process Lisa Cron champions in her book Story Genius: How to Use Brain Science to Go Beyond Outlining and Write a Riveting Novel (Before You Waste Three Years Writing 327 Pages That Go Nowhere). The title itself was enough to sell me on the book, and as I work my way through it I’m becoming even more of a fan.
 
It’s hard work, requiring a lot of thought and a lot of writing, followed by digging deeper, thinking more, and writing more. Being able to spend hours in concentrated work, not just stolen minutes here and there, has led to much-needed breakthroughs. Finally, I’m getting some clarity on how to achieve what I’m trying to achieve in the story I’m working on.

​Early in our Newaygo life—around a decade ago—I scoured flea markets, antiques shops, and ebay for interesting picture frames, visualizing a gallery of old family pictures in our upstairs hallway. Those frames have sat in a trunk in the guest bedroom all these years, waiting for me to fill them. Every month of every year I’ve thought I’d get to it, and every month of every year has somehow gotten filled up in other ways.
 
Finally, I gathered frames and photos, did the necessary prep work, and with Ray’s help, hung them in the hall. Here are the pictures that now have homes:

​While I was at it, I framed a few more of my nature photos to hang in my studio and the guest room. I’m happy seeing the empty spaces filled and even happier having done something that had been on my to-do list far too long.

​A volunteer opportunity cropped up: entering data for a ballot initiative for which I’d helped gather signatures. I thought, Why not? I certainly have the time! It’s a simple task—just taking names, phone numbers, and email addresses from cell-phone photos of petitions and entering the info onto a spreadsheet. A little hard on the eyes, but easy on the brain, which suits me fine right now.
​

​​Every spring, one of our tasks is cleaning up downed trees and branches in the patch of woods around our house. Ray cuts up the wood and runs the small and medium-sized pieces through the chipper. I gather up the chips and spread them on the paths we’ve made around our property. This year has yielded enough chips for me to create a new path or two. In the process of making many chip-laden wheelbarrow trips, I rack up an astonishing number of steps, according to my Fitbit. Between that work and my wanderings in the woods (see item #4), I’ve been covering some serious miles.

​Enter the North Country Trail Association’s Hike 100 Challenge. The idea is to hike 100 miles in a year. Normally, those miles have to be on the North Country Trail (though it doesn’t matter whether you hike the same mile 100 times or cover 100 unique miles of trail). But this year, in response to shelter-in-place directives, the association bent the rules to allow all miles walked in April and May—in your backyard, around the house or neighborhood, on the treadmill—to count toward the total.
 
I’ve been keeping track, and I’ve already passed the 60-mile mark. I could very well hit 100 by the end of this month.

True, I do this all the time, not just when we’re on lockdown. But spending time in nature has been particularly restorative during this time of unprecedented events and uncertainty. I hauled out my cameras, which I’d been neglecting while busy with book promotion, and discovered anew the joy of wandering around, photographing flowers, flowing water, and woodland creatures.
 
Here are a few shots from my wanderings. You’ll find more at the end of this post. 

​I read an article by nature photographer Melissa Groo about an unusual technique for photographing fast-moving birds in flight. Intrigued, I tried it out that very afternoon, trying to catch chickadees and nuthatches coming and going at the bird feeder.
 
While my results aren’t quite where I’d like yet, in terms of sharpness, I was happy to at least capture a complete bird—not just tail feathers at the edge of the frame—on a fair number of attempts. I’m showing you these not because they’re anything to brag about, but because they represent the kind of patient, try-try-again attitude that’s easier to adopt when you’re not trying to fit so many things into your day.

​Emptiness is the pregnant void out of which all creation springs.
-- Wayne Muller

​The above quote is from an article titled “Fear of Rest” in the May issue of The Sun magazine, excerpted from Muller’s book Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest. As so often happens, I came across the article at precisely the time I needed to read it. Musing on the necessity of rest—and our resistance to it—made me more appreciative of having time to intersperse rest with periods of activity. The older I get, the more I respect rest, but I still need reminding sometimes that it’s a legitimate use of time, not only to restore the body, but also to feed creativity.

​How have the past couple of months been for you? How are you feeling about re-entry?

​It all started with a gadget in a catalog. 
​

​​No, it really started before that, when I was deciding what to take to a potluck. A salad? Nah. There’d probably be a lot of those. Dessert? Probably too many of those, too. Deviled eggs? Perfect! 

​So I boiled up a batch of eggs, plunged them into ice water to loosen the shells, and started peeling. Well, “peeling” isn't quite the right word. More like “mutilating.” The shells clung to the inner membranes. The inner membranes clung to the whites, big hunks of which tore off, no matter how carefully I tried to separate shell from white.

​There was no way I was taking that mess to a party. So I made egg salad for lunch and whipped up a pan of brownies for the potluck.

​After that fiasco, I took a scientific tack, reading up on egg cooking and peeling and following all the tips: choose older eggs rather than fresh ones, add baking soda to the cooking water, make the ice bath icier. No good. Peeling was still tedious and disastrous. 

​Then I saw it—the gadget in the catalog: The NEGG® Easy Hard-Boiled Egg Peeler. It’s a simple cylinder with bumps on the inside and caps on either end. You remove one cap, pour in a little water, drop in a hard-boiled egg, replace the cap, give the whole thing a few vigorous shakes, remove the egg, and voila! the shell slides right off. The online video made it look so easy, with the whole shell slipping off in one or two pieces.

​Of course I had to have one! Ray obliged by getting me one for Christmas and even let me pick the color (yolk yellow, naturally).

​

​​Now let me say right here that I am not being paid to endorse the NEGG® (which stands for Naked Egg, in case you were wondering). Nor am I turning this blog into a product review. My intention is not so much to praise the product as to celebrate a simple pleasure.

​Because that—along with un-mutilated eggs—is what we’ve gotten from this little gadget. Admittedly, it took us a few batches of eggs to get the technique down. I even emailed the company, asking for tips, and got a reply from none other than Bonnie Tyler, NEGG® inventor and CEO (Chief Egg Officer), advising me to roll, pinch, and push the shell, rather than picking at it.

​​Now, Ray and I have a ridiculous amount of fun boiling up eggs and taking turns peeling them with our handy little egg shaker.  

​That’s when we look at each other and say, “We really need to get a life. We used to ride motorcycles for fun. Now we’re peeling eggs?”

​But you know what? Anytime you can find joy in everyday activities, I think that’s a good thing. Especially when the result is a tasty snack! 

In my last HeartWood blog post, I ruminated on work spaces and what to call them, and I took you on a tour of mine, henceforth to be known as my studio. I was happy that several readers took me up on my invitation to share photos and thoughts about their own work spaces. Here's what they shared:

Oddly, although I have a large office at work and a comfy office at home, most of my writing and meetings these days are at coffee houses! Go figure.

Editor's note: A few years ago, Mark wrote this post for his blog "The Hive" about working  in coffee shops: Coffee Culture. 

​In Florida, our Florida room does it all.

​​At home in Michigan we do have a dedicated room for an office. Yes, office. That's where the files and bookshelves are and of course the desk. The room has dark paneling, the piano and a few framed photos of travels. Not a very bright, inspiring place to write. Maybe that's why I write everywhere in the house--recliner, kitchen counter, dining room table, deck. Yes, much brighter and more space for my laptop and cup of tea.

Do these glimpses of other people's work areas give you ideas for ways to use your own? Are you inspired to carve out a completely different niche for your creative endeavors?

​A few weeks ago, Writer’s Digest put out an intriguing invitation to readers: Submit a photo (or two, or three) of your workspace, along with comments on how you use it, why it’s set up the way it is, or anything else you'd like to say about it. The editors will pick a few to publish in the magazine.
 
I had every intention of submitting mine, but before I managed to assemble the pictures and send off the entry, the deadline had passed. Still, the challenge got me thinking about my own work space, not only how I use it, but also what I call it.

​When I worked from home for my regular job or on freelance assignments, I called my workspace—in our previous home as well as our current one—my “office.” But something about that term grates on me now. It conjures images of deadlines, dingy cubicles, and that sense of being chained to a desk, unable to escape and have fun.

​Nowadays, although I still spend a lot of time in the room where my desk resides, I’m not always working in the strict sense of the word. Sometimes I’m practicing yoga. Sometimes I’m brainstorming ideas for writing projects, or organizing and editing photos, or sorting and cutting out pieces for collages, or creating music playlists, or communicating with friends, or yes, writing. It’s as much a playroom as a workspace.

​​So what to call it?
 
“Workshop” sounds crafty—a good place to build things. But still a little “worky.”
 
“Study” is what spaces like mine used to be called before the home-office kick. Filled with books, as my room is, studies were places for contemplation and rumination. I certainly do contemplate and ruminate. Yet “study” sounds so studious. Not playful.

I’m partial to “studio.” With its artsy connotations, it leaves open possibilities for all sorts of creative activities. Why, I could even dance in a studio (and sometimes I do!). So for now I’m sticking with studio. And just for fun, I’ll take you on a tour.

​Then, I invite you to send me photos of your own creative space and tell me what you call it and how you use it.

Where will your workspace--or playspace--take you?

​Happy New Year!

Is today just like any other day for you, or do you see the beginning of a new year as a time to reflect and set intentions?

As I wrote here a year ago, I no longer make formal resolutions or long lists of goals and aspirations for the coming year. Still, the idea of a fresh start is so appealing I can't resist trying to do a few things differently.

Or maybe just one thing. This time last year, I vowed to break the habit of starting my day by checking my inbox and scanning headlines. Too often, that practice left me agitated and unfocused--exactly not the way I want to be when I sit down to write or tackle other tasks that require concentration.

It was a worthy goal, one I tried all year to accomplish. But the busy-ness of book publishing and promotion and the enticement of never-a-dull-moment national news was too seductive. I just couldn't keep myself from going online before breakfast.

Until a few weeks ago, when I finally found the mettle to break the habit. What flipped the switch for me was a piece by Colleen Story on her Writing and Wellness website that caught my attention with the subhead, "Why Writers Should Avoid the Internet First Thing in the Morning." 

In the article, Colleen cites research suggesting that hopping around on the internet interferes with the ability to focus even after getting offline. She goes on to list five first-thing-in-the-morning activities that are more conducive to all-day productivity. I won't repeat the list here--you can read the full article for that.

​But I will tell you about the change I've made. For the past three weeks this has been my morning routine: yoga, reading poetry, writing down dreams or other thoughts (but not to-do lists), then working on my novel-in-progress. Email and other online business come only after all of that.

I was astonished at how quickly changing that one habit made a difference in my mindset. As I wrote in my journal after just a few mornings of the new routine, "Ideas flow, I feel calmer, less focused on my to-do list; I think instead about what I'm reading and writing. This is good."

In short, simply by changing one habit I feel recharged and ready to put my creativity to work in whole new ways in a whole new year.

​Do you have a habit you'd like to change? Need a little help making it happen?

Here are some suggestions I've gleaned over the years:

• Be clear about why you want to make the change. What desirable thing will it allow you to do or feel?
• Make a plan. List no more than five small steps that will move you toward your goal. If you're giving up a habit, decide what you'll substitute in its place. Think about when, where, and how you'll do the new thing. Picture yourself carrying out your plan.
• Anticipate obstacles that may interfere with making the change. Think ahead about how to deal with them
• Share your intention with someone who supports you, even if that's only yourself in your journal.
• Celebrate every small success. They'll add up to bigger ones. 

May 2020 be a year of creativity, connection, and contentment for us all!

​Santa came to our house early this year. Though he arrived in an SUV, not a sleigh, and he wasn’t “dressed all in fur from his head to his foot,” his long beard and the twinkle in his eye gave him away.
 
Truth be told, a visit from this Santa was high on my Christmas wish list. I’d often seen him around town and wanted to know how he ended up in Newaygo instead of at the North Pole. Turns out he grew up right here in Newaygo County and after a couple of decades away, returned to make this his home.
 
While he admits to owning a few red suits, and he’s been seen in the company of reindeer, this Santa, who calls himself “Charlie Johnson,” doesn’t claim to be the real Santa. Then again, he doesn’t claim not to be. He told me the same thing he tells children who press him on the question. 

​“Santa can’t see billions of kids all at once, at every mall, so he has helpers that help him out. It’s up to you to decide which one is the real one.”
 
There are so many of these surrogate Santas, in fact, they’ve formed a brotherhood, mingling (and jingling, no doubt) with one another at Santa schools and Santa conventions. Every October, Santa Charlie heads to the Charles W. Howard Santa School in Midland. There, some 300 Santas, Mrs. Clauses, and elves brush up on everything from the history of Saint Nicholas and Santa Claus to proper dress, reindeer habits, radio and television interview tips, and other useful tidbits. Most of all, “it’s about the spirit of being a Santa,” says Charlie.
 
Of course, cookies are served, along with pointers on the do’s and don’ts of Santa-ing.
The number one no-no: don’t promise to grant a wish or bring a particular gift.

​Santa Charlie has a few of his own rules of thumb, as well. “I’m more of a low-key Santa,” he says. “I think the kids respond to that better, especially the littlest ones. I won’t force them to sit on my lap. If the parents try and put them onto my lap, I’ll say, ‘No, hold them, or see if they’ll stand beside me.’”
 
In a venue where Santa can move around a bit—on the Santa Train that runs between Coopersville and Marne, for instance—Charlie resorts to stealth.
 
“I’ll sneak up behind them while their parents are holding them and do a photo bomb so the parents can get their picture of the kid with Santa.” 

​​He laughs—more of a chuckle than a ho-ho-ho—and another voice pipes up from the corner: “Santa is the most-photographed icon in the world.” That’s Mrs. Claus, AKA Carol Nickles, who came along with Santa Charlie on his visit to our house. The couple met at Santa school three years ago and became an item about a year later. Now they’re “having a blast” making the Santa scene together, says Carol.
 
At a recent Santa convention they performed in the talent show, harmonizing on a swing tune called “Holiday Romance” while accompanied by a Mrs. Claus from West Virginia. Carol, a seamstress, wore a glitzy red ball gown she’d created, and Charlie was gussied up, too.

“So fun, so fun,” Carol recalls.
 
Also fun: Appearances at the Rooftop Landing Reindeer Farm in Clare and field trips with busloads of other Santas and Mrs. Clauses from the Midland Santa school to the steam train in Owosso and Bronner’s Christmas Wonderland in Frankenmuth.
 
“Can you imagine these big coach buses pulling up to Bronner’s and all of us getting out?” says Carol. “Now, we’re not dressed in Santa garb, but there are all the beards, and we’re wearing red and green.”

​Santa-ing isn’t confined to the Christmas season anymore. “Christmas in July is starting to be thing,” says Carol. She and Charlie were invited to add their festive flair to the Star 105.7 radio booth at one such event. Charlie agreed on the condition that he wouldn’t have to wear his full Santa suit in 85-degree weather. Instead, he came up with a “Santa casual” ensemble of red shorts, a Santa-print Hawaiian shirt, and a straw hat, and Carol lightened up her Mrs. Claus-wear accordingly.
 
“Most people would say being a Santa is a calling,” says Carol. Charlie agrees, though Santa-ing doesn’t consume his whole life. He’s plenty busy with a variety of other activities, even after his recent retirement from TrueNorth, where he ran the LifeLink program and coordinated the Newaygo County Senior and Caregiver Expo. He’s often seen playing harmonica at River Stop Café’s open mic nights and running the sound board for Lion Heart Community Theater productions and concerts at Dogwood Center for the Performing Arts. This time of year, you’ll also find him caroling with the men’s chorus that strolls through Newaygo during the yearly Christmas Walk.

​Alas, our house has no chimney, so I couldn’t put Santa Charlie to the test of exiting the traditional way. He just walked out the front door like anyone else. But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight . . . Oh, who am I kidding? His windows were rolled up; I didn’t hear anything. I’m pretty sure, though, that as he drove away, he wished us “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.” 

​Around the middle of last week, I looked at the calendar and had a startling realization. Today would be my regular blog-posting day, and not only did I not have a post written, I could not see enough uncommitted time in the intervening days to get one written.

​We were about to leave town for a book signing in Detroit, followed by a Michigan Nature Association dinner in East Lansing the next day, followed by a family birthday party in Northville the day after that. Then back home to Newaygo, where yoga class, a book club appearance, a medical appointment, and the library book sale setup all crowded into the next few days.

​There just wasn’t time to write and set up a post.

​Still, I didn’t want to break my commitment to post on HeartWood every first and third Wednesday. So I started scrambling and scheming. I could dig out a post I’d started a year or so ago but had set aside and never finished. Yeah, that’s what I would do.

​I found the post and the notes and images I needed to finish it, loaded everything onto a flash drive, and figured I’d do the work on our laptop in the downtime between the weekend events.

​Great plan. Until . . . the night of the first event when—thanks to adrenaline, an unfamiliar bed, and leg cramps from the super-stylish but brutal shoes I’d worn that evening—I got almost no sleep and woke up the next morning in a fog so deep there was no way I could write anything coherent. Now that I had the time, I didn’t have the brain power.

​I needed to rest. I knew that. But my first impulse was to start scrambling and scheming again. I could power nap and then, if I was really efficient, still get the blog post done.

​Just one problem: Tired as I was, I could not fall asleep for a nap. That’s when I remembered a recent conversation with a friend who’s trying to break the habit of cramming too much into her schedule. She told me she’s cutting back on commitments and learning to rest. 

​That’s when I knew that was what I needed to do, too. Just rest.

​​Just then, another memory came to me: a blog post I’d written last year, when I was in a similar period of overload and had the radical idea of taking a time out.

“​​As soon as I had that thought, the space around me opened up,” I wrote. “My breathing slowed. I felt like I could float on air.
​
“Such a simple solution, just stepping back and saying, ‘Whoa, there.’ Yet it's crazily easy to forget that it's an option—that when things get too hectic, maybe they don't need to be. Maybe there are things that don't have to be done, or that don't have to be done quite the way you thought they did.”

​I re-read those words and thought, “Who was the wise person who wrote this? Why am I not following her advice?”

Well, now I am. I’ve given myself permission to a take time out instead of scrambling. That other post I was going to power through and finish for today? It’ll still get done, but in a week when I can give it the time and attention it deserves.
​
Meanwhile, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shut off the computer and give it and my brain and body a rest.