Saturday, November 3, 2012

Elbow Room

Harvest Moon over trees
" . . . Elbow Room!" cried Daniel Boone.
~Arthur Cuiterman

It's Saturday morning, and the dust motes are dancing in the early morning sun that streams through the windows.  The silence is a true rarity in this age when digital devices provide a soundtrack which kidnaps my attention and holds it hostage.

My goodness, I've needed this.  I feel so mush-brained thirteen days into a seventeen-day week (the downside of multiple income streams).  So, I'm savoring the silence, hoping my thoughts will take some intelligent form rather than bouncing around aimlessly.  They must do it quickly.  I have a hair appointment at nine and an appointment in town at noon that should last until seven or eight this evening.

Out of reach!
But the silence is not actually silent:  the clock is ticking, a bird whistles its tune in the yard.  Claws skitter across the hard floor and the family pets careen into the room, running and roughhousing.  The brown-tabby cat, Lexi, tires for a moment and leaps to the back of the recliner where Lizzy, the border collie, cannot follow.  After a victorious moment she pounces, genially gumming Lizzy's fluffy windshield-wiper tail.  I hear slippers scuffing up the hall and I know this silence, this solace, will soon cease.  While I crave silence, he abhors it, so the digital devices will power up, driving away the silence.  It's time for me to get dressed, anyway.

The errand in town finished early and I'm back at home while the family is at a movie.  The dust motes are dancing in the final rays of the day.  The house is silent, except for the pets playing.  The room is growing dark and I'm finally beginning to relax again.

The cat has decided I need help writing this and climbs onto my chest to watch me work.  She's ready for supper and wants me to take care of her.  Only after lightning strikes nearby do I notice that clouds have covered the twilit sky.  Both she and the dog scamper for shelter.

A front is coming through which means the weather will cool for a few days.  The air crackles with the looming change.  I am uneasy, but cannot attribute it completely to the weather.  I am uncomfortable with my life.  Change is coming; it must because I am too tired to continue expending energy without respite.

On occasion, I must begin to say, "No," to the things I don't really enjoy so I can say, "Yes," to the things I do.  My schedule for the next few weeks is full, but thins somewhat after that.  I plan to keep it that way.

The lightning has become less frequent and the animals are settling down.  So am I.  The family will be home soon and the noise will increase, but that's okay.  Family is something I've said, "No," to entirely too much.

So, I'll close this little entry.  I have a good book waiting on me.

How are you?


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