Slo-Mo

A few people have recently emailed to see if I am alright. It seems they found the dearth of new posts rather worrisome, given that I usually have an observation to share about everything. Fret not...I have just decelerated into the standard pace of summertime living in the Deep South: slow motion.

It's not the heat; it's the humidity.

After all, 94 degrees isn't hot enough to fry an egg on the sidewalk. Yet after a short walk to the mail box at the end of the driveway, I have perspiration dripping off the end of my nose. I am not quite sure why I dry my hair every morning, because as soon as I step outside, it's wet again. Makeup would slide off of my face like a clock in a Salvador Dali painting, so I don't bother. Even the most put-together, perfectly coiffed southern belles are looking a bit wilted.

I thought that I would have acclimated by now, as this is my third summer here. I haven't. After taking a closer look at my neighbors, I realize that they haven't acclimated, either. They have merely adapted: they slow down.

The heat does sap a person's strength, but if one moves slowly enough, there's time to enjoy any breeze generated by the movement, right? Seriously, working hard in these conditions requires frequent breaks in order to avoid heat exhaustion. I now understand why movies set in the Deep South have everyone sitting under a fan on a shady porch, drinking iced tea. It helps like nothing else does.

Slowing down has its benefits. We spend more time talking with family and friends. We are more aware of the beauty of creation, and our dependence upon it. We have time to dream and to plan; time to give attention to the little things that are overlooked or forgotten when life is busier. We tend to look toward heaven and say 'thank you' much more often than we would otherwise do, because there is time to reflect on our blessings and the bounty that is ours.

We?

Guess this transplant has taken root.