And oh I’ve been getting up earlier than the kidlet and official teen and older teens, savoring Morning Grace. Looking askance at the messy counter overflowing with dirty dishes; abandoned last night when we were off to bed too late. (Because the dishwasher was ‘”full of clean” and the thought of emptying, putting away, and refilling just too much.)
They’re sleeping in late and I find myself wandering: picking up this, putting away that. Shoving another load into the overworked, (and showing its age just a bit – um…like me…), washer. Wondering aloud to silent air why the floor looks as though it hasn’t been vacuumed in at least a month, when I clearly recall mowing around with that loud little sucker only yesterday.
The dogs (four of the five sleep downstairs), do a flop happy-tail to see me. Lying in a hairy heap. Basking up sun streaming in too bright from the family room windows. I avoid their eyes and pull the curtains closed; those thin, coming on brilliant streaks of sunlight already too much for my morning head to bear. (I’ll open the curtains later, should a storm rush in and lovely rain begin to fall. Or certainly tonight, as the sun is setting all blushing and proud against an emerging night sky; city lights shining.
Yeal I’m a murky dismal, storm raging weather kinda girl from way back, a night person nature born.)
I make a cuppa, settle in to stare at the keyboard, (waiting for the legendary blood to well up outta my forehead), think how cold my feet are, realize there’s actually a space heater down there, and switch it on. I glance at the stacks I’ve created, the numbers I need to call, the forest of sticky notes adorning my monitor, the to-do lists scrawled on this torn scratch paper and the back of that envelope, just the way they say you should never do if you want to be organized.
I consider how very much overrated organization is.
(Kinda takes the adventure outta things.)
I sip tea, crack open a forbidden (by me – naturally I ignore myself), diet coke, and gulp down those meds. Keeping the allergies at bay. Keeping my head from spinning round and round, hair flying. Scaring the holy crap outta everyone.
I write bits here and there, read through that thing, wonder over this one. Forbid myself to even think about beginning something new.
Banish the thought.
‘Cause it’s in my head and oh look now it’s on the paper (or at least the computer screen), and here’s another thousand words. Maybe they’re all part of the same whole and I just haven’t realized it yet?
Now it’s going on nine a.m. and I’ve been here awhile, though it doesn’t seem long. And I should really really be getting that kidlet and that teen and those older teens up. (Amazing how they don’t get up on their own. How long would they sleep I wonder? Would the days pass on till their stomachs finally growled right through their dreams and they stumbled outta bed, forging a slow ravenous path toward the kitchen?)
Because there is school to do and the washer shut off who knows when and the morning’s quiet dawn has long since passed as this day shifts, already gearing down toward afternoon.
So I talk to God quiet, gulping down dregs of stone cold tea.
I take at a look at the calendar. Sigh a bit; wondering when I’ll fit running in today, but looking forward to baseball practice ‘cause it holds a gleaming hour and a half while I sit doing what I wanna do: reading, scribbling. Waiting peaceful while that kidlet runs and throws, catches and “gets a hit!” (And yes I still stand amazed anyone would actually choose to play sport when they could be reading or writing or hiking high over a mountain where no one shouts Catch it! Catch it! Run! Where long nights loom crystal clear: silent and cool.)
The dogs follow as I clomp upstairs in my too large slippers. Taking a breath (steeling myself), entering first one, then another, now the last – three rooms each smelling of Boy. (Discarded hoodies and joggers, scattered books, phone glowing on the bed. Spotting green, blue, and white – wait, aren’t those mine? – earbuds.) Avoiding eye contact with the piles of dirty plates and semi crushed Mountain Dew cans. Pushing aside curtains, announcing the time as an hour later than it actually is. Then pausing outside Our Girl’s room, listening. Knowing she’s been awake for a while. Reading, busy at her own desk, straightening her room in her own straightening-her-room fashion.
(No she and I don’t see quite clear on this. Yes I learned to live with it some time ago.)
Now the light through the curtains has changed. The early morning grey tinge mingled, shot through with bright sunshine; leaving the dawn thickened, and gone. Everything has glided on: seconds ticking by, counting off each tiny pearl – here is a new moment! Ah, now it’s passed… I pause, wondering whether the house took a small step widershins without my realizing.
(I wouldn’t be surprised. Not really.)
So we begin our day as mine lingers, watching, biding its time there in the corner. Oftimes waiting quiet, oftimes raging over, storming loud till I can no longer ignore it and allow it to slip back into being, if only for a moment. Gathering up dangling threads – bits of memory. Words and fragments, ideas and wild roving thoughts flaming up quick.
Catch ‘em fast, before they sizzle out.
Late morning bears down. We set the kettle to boil one more time. The just cleared, wiped to a shine counter somehow refills; becoming cluttered anew as afternoon draws on.
While my morning grace awaits. Tucked in just right there, thin, silver-grey threads shivering silent. Fingerprints trailing about, fading behind me as I drift from this to that. Watching morning grace from the corner of my eye. Knowing it’s listening for the day to fade. Winding about, gathering twilight unto itself.
Finding solace in approaching nighttime skies, and the new dawn to come.