day is done — Helen Washington

Jan 31

Jan 31 day is done

I like rhythms.

During this section of time, I have felt the need to grasp my well-worn rhythms tightly and endeavor to create new ones.

A Facebook memory from three years ago came across my screen this morning.

Carl and I had traveled two hours south to watch Caleb play soccer and during the second half of the game, the fog that had been hovering descended and blanketed the field, making it a challenge to locate the ball.

These players, who had logged hundreds of hours of soccer over the course of their childhoods when confronted by this outside force rendered skill level, muscle memory, or even strong-willed determination useless.

Because when sight is obliterated, the playing field is most assuredly leveled, no one can see.

Each day, we walk with the persistent threat of fog, shielding our sight and upending our lives. It makes no difference how many hundreds and thousands of days we have walked before. The fog of this time is different from any we have known.

I need rhythms to provide an anchor to my days.

For me, establishing morning rhythms has proven to be easier than those traditionally relegated to the evening hours.

Perhaps I know my needs better at the beginning of the day and as soon as daylight wanes, so does my resolve.

Maybe I have viewed the evening as the time to clear the dinner dishes, wash my face, put on my pajamas, and call it a day.

Maybe I have viewed evening rhythms as all about getting ready to sleep, not involving enjoyable activities but purely perfunctory ones.

Until one night, I saw a box of chocolates and Irish tea upon our butcher’s block.

I have always wanted to be one of “those people” who could have a square of chocolate at day’s end and be satisfied as if it was the most filling luxury. When I say “those people”,
I actually mean those who can be satisfied with dark chocolate because it’s good for you.

January arrived with the need to begin weaning oneself from the continual intake of goodies.

One night, I spied a gorgeous box of chocolates we had received over the holidays as well as a basket of Irish treats our long-time neighbor had left on our porch. The basket contained sweet and savory favorites from her home country nestled around her beloved tea.

That first night, I brewed a cup of tea, took two chocolates nestled in their dark paper cups, and joined Carl to watch our evening shows.

I was surprised how in spite of all the previous days of feasting, this simple act felt special and satisfying.

I continued the next day, only this time with a solitary piece of chocolate paired with my steaming mug of tea.

Once the box had been emptied by our family, I took a trip to a store to buy a good quality chocolate bar, to be enjoyed square by square over the next week or two.

This has been my January rhythm, my evening ritual.

I have become (at least for a month) what I thought was impossible and improbable.
But let's be clear, I am enjoying milk chocolate.

An evening ritual is not about doing what you think is best or better for you, it is about what brings enjoyment.

Let’s call it a Helen rule, feel free to adopt it with your name leading the way.

I have begun to look forward to this sweet time in the evening, my new rhythm.

This has become my small way of being present to my tastes, preferences as well as steeping a bit of reverence for a day that may have contained hills to climb or was lavished with sunshine upon my face.

Do you have an evening rhythm?

Is there one small offering you could add to the end of your day, that has not one thing to do with productivity or function?

Think about adding one tiny habit to signal the gift of another setting sun.

This post has been about creating a rhythm to anchor your evening. Recently, our family of six has begun a new daily rhythm. We have jumped onto the Wordle craze. About a month ago, I was scrolling Facebook and saw a friend’s post that stated she had caved and changed her mind. This proclamation was followed by two sets of numbers and multicolored boxes. I hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. Later in the week, I would discover the meaning behind the seemingly cryptic message.

One by one, family members joined me and shared their results in a text thread. On Sunday, we wrapped up our first “official” Wordle challenge week. I love that this word puzzle is not on an app. I love that there is only one word per day. I think the concept is brilliant and you can read more of the backstory, which is precious, here.

Let’s face it. The days feel long and serious. This text thread has been a small way to connect our not all under the same roof family. We love games and although this isn’t the same as encircling a table over a board game. Wordle has been a connector and a puzzle turning into a gift. I smile while playing, knowing my dad would have LOVED Wordle. I can hear his infectious laughter, envisioning him being more victorious than stumped.

Every couple of days, I share a running total of each player’s score and the winner is whoever has the lowest amount of turns after seven days. Allow me to share the mayhem of the final day when four of us were tied on Saturday.