Quiet is a form of support. Also: refuge and sanctuary.
“Do you hear that, K?” I asked a few times this weekend. “That’s quiet. We’re listening to QUIET!”
Getting organized is support. I forget that.
Calendars are fickle forms of support — fierce task masters in one mood and stalwart and reliable friends in the next. But, if you think about it, a grid is neutral really. Maybe time is, too.
I cannot live without a paper calendar — electronic won’t do. I prefer a teacher’s big-sized version (though no more academic years for me! too confusing!). These are wire bound, with views of both the months and the weeks. I need both.
Life without this form of support is unimaginable to me. Three people in my immediate circle do not use them. Two of them are millenials and before you assume they simply have a generational aversion to paper, let me say — they don’t really seem to use the calendars on their phones, either. Huh?
Technology is support, except when it isn’t. When technology isn’t a support (or a form of education and entertainment), then it is a Medusa-like fiend.
My laptop froze twice over the weekend — big time scary event when the last save of the manuscript was three weeks ago. More frequent saves to the external hard drive are in order! That’d be routine forming a safety-net. Support.
Having dog walker, Rafi, help out (especially when K is away) is an expensive but welcome support and since it’s the only time our Finny gets to be social, it has additional value.
Getting groceries delivered is a decadent support that I’ll sheepishly admit to enjoying. It adds minimal expense and subtracts a fair bit of selection pleasure and skill, but eliminating grocery runs, sometimes for three weeks running? That’s support. And there’s my Peapod truck now — so bye!
Where do you find support in your life?