Kitchen Dancing

It occurred to me tonight as I sat down to my computer to write this that I felt much like a pianist approaching a piano, situating myself just right in my seat and getting my mind in the correct place. I spent many years as a musician.  Did I ever tell you I was once a flute player?  All those hours in a practice room and again at home, trying to get every single note just right.  And I played piccolo, and ukulele.  I used to think I had a nice singing voice, but my allergies make me sound like a sick toad. (I miss my old voice so much that I have an appointment with the allergist next week.)

Moving on:  I told you last week that our refrigerator died, and we had to buy a new one. This week, our washing machine decided to spew all of its water onto the laundry room floor!  I put a load of wash in, went on a short errand, and came back to an inch of water on the floor. Hubby spent an hour fixing it on Saturday (Me:  “My Hero!  Thank you so much!”), but the next load proved the barrel was not spinning properly.  It’s ten years old and honestly, I’m glad to be done with this front loader with its stinky rubber seal! The next day, William’s car battery died, I found two termite trails, and the coffee pot gave up the ghost.   Also I need the carpets cleaned due to, well, doo.  Ruby the Wonder Spaniel is not waiting for me to get home and keeps “going” in Patrick’s old room. I hate to spend money on boring stuff like appliances and home upkeep, don’t you?

In other news:  I’ve just pushed through four weeks of personal growth.  (Cry, whine, scream, shiver, moan, sigh.)  Since William went back to college, I’ve been lonely.  I am NOT good at being alone.  Hubby works hellacious hours so for the first time in my life, I am alone in my house for many hours each day.  All that time alone was making me mad and sad and a bit grumpy.

Yet . . . I’m actually starting to enjoy it!  I’ve been meeting friends for coffee (or a pint of beer) many evenings after work, and it’s nice to not have to worry about being home at a certain time.  And when I’m alone at home, I can do WHATEVER I WANT!  For example, tonight I got home from work at 5:30 and began baking muffins.  All alone, I could choose the music with nobody complaining. It was really hot in our house, so I took off my pants. I danced in the kitchen knowing nobody would judge my poor dance moves. Then I danced with one of our cats, with nobody around to think that’s weird.  I talked to myself, with nobody around to think that’s weird.  Nobody was there to chide me for eating the ice cream straight from the container (and I smoothed it over so Hubby won’t notice–the freezer kills germs, right?).

Okay, I’ll finish this up with a poem about personal growth (by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin) that I had on the front of my fridge for many years.  I am not religious, so I take out the word “God” and replace it with “Universe”.

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay.
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way
to something unknown, something new.
Yet it is the law of all progress that is made
by passing through some stages of instability
and that may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you.
Your ideas mature gradually. Let them grow.
Let them shape themselves without undue haste. 
Do not try to force them on
as though you could be today what time
— that is to say, grace —
and circumstances
— acting on your own good will — 
will make you tomorrow.

Cheers,

Mary

Chasing Cars

My house is very quiet this morning.  Hubby is back to work.  College Boy William is still asleep and will be until noon.  Feeling lonely, I opened the front blinds to watch neighbors walking their dogs.  They are happy, and the cold air can be seen in the fog of their breaths.  Our dog cannot go for a walk; she was born with terrible hips and the surgery made it worse.  Ruby misses Hubby today and whines “squee squee” from the landing of the stairs.  It will take a few days, but she’ll get used to our new schedule.  I am keenly missing Morning Meeting at my school; it will take a few days, but I, too, will get used to my new schedule.

Today I have 60 minutes of time I must “serve” at the gym, lunch with my oldest friend (we met in Mr. McQueen’s 7th grade class at Connolly Middle School), then a few errands. It’s not really enough to fill a day.  My goal is better health, so I remind myself that the weather is beautiful and I can ride my bike, take a walk, or drive ten minutes to reach the War Paint Trail and do a walk in/around South Mountain.  I think the term “hiking” does not accurately describe our little walks on the well-designated paths.

If it were up to me, I’d hike every day.  The only problem is a big one:  I’m afraid to hike alone!  I know I’m being ridiculous.  I have friends who hike alone all the time.  As far as I know, not one of them has broken any limbs or been bitten by a rattlesnake.  I’ve “practiced” hiking alone by walking far ahead on the trail while hiking with Hubby.  I’ll pretend I’m alone, but still, at every blind corner I imagine a slobbering zombie, a rabid coyote, or some sort of deranged dentist with a drill in hand waiting to attack me. It’s no good.

Starting next week, I’ll be doing a lot of things solo.  William will return to college, and I will be here alone. Soooooo, since I’m terrible at entertaining myself, I’ve made a long list of Things to Do so I Won’t Get Blue. Hiking is on that list, along with Organizing My Life, and Writing the Great American Novel.  Easy peasy.

One thing I know is I will need to get out of the house.  The retired postman who lives across the street from me uses the blower each afternoon for an hour.  It sounds like he is IN MY HOUSE with the blower (it’s very loud).  He is a nice man but has an obsession with that blower. When he’s not blowing, he likes to detail his car in the driveway—with music from the 1970s blaring from his radio.  I asked the neighbors if they’d go in on an Ipod for him but, alas, they have known him longer than I and say there is no fixing his ways.  His other hobby is walking his baying beagles—almost as loud as the blower, but not quite as loud as his radio.  My theory is some people are simply louder than others.

The other reason to leave my house is because of what we call The Loud Car.  It’s been in our neighborhood for about a year now.  At first, I ignored it.  We’ve lived here 15 years and the annoying things (like loud cars, kids on electric scooters, cars with rap on car radios, baseball practice right outside our window in the greenbelt) always go away in a short time.  But not The Loud Car.  Hubby and I have tried to catch a glimpse of it, but it is very quiet as it exits its own street, however, once it reaches the street behind ours, it accelerates. It can be heard for a half mile in any direction. I’ve actually hopped in my car to try to find it when I saw it out my window.  What will I do when I identify it?  I’m not sure.  Place a nice note on the windshield with directions to a muffler shop?  I know this too shall pass, and I realize I need to find a better hobby than chasing cars.

Cheers,

Mary

 

The Angel Shrugged

Not working every day is taking some getting used to.  I’ve never been good at transitions, or being alone for more than a few hours at a time.  I become anxious and introspective.  I find myself eating potato chips at 9am and biting cheddar cheese off the brick and pacing around the kitchen island.  This quote by Henry David Thoreau (which used to be on the front of my fridge) says best how I feel when I’m alone:

It is easier to sail many thousands of miles through cold and storm and cannibals, than it is to explore the private sea, the Atlantic and Pacific of one’s being.

And this one (by Brian Andreas) which is meant to be uplifting, but holy crap, that’s a lot of pressure:

In my dream, the angel shrugged & said, if we fail this time, it will be a failure of imagination & then she placed the world gently in the palm of my hand.

So as to avoid standing in the kitchen eating cheese and reading sad quotes about introspection . . . and feeling the pressure of doing something fabulous because I’m holding the freakin’ world in the palm of my hand, I’ve been keeping busy.

This morning Gwen came over at 8:30, and we took a brisk one-hour walk.  How fabulous to be one of the women walking, the ones I would see out my car window as I drove to work every morning!  It was only 40 degrees, so I wore my hat and winter mittens and we talked about every little thing and were delighted when we came upon four snowy egrets and some ducks over by the fake lake . . . and then became lost.  Gwen was smart to bring her phone and it turned out we weren’t very lost at all.  She and I were in high school marching band together, and it always fills my bucket to be with my oldest and dearest peeps.  Gwen is upbeat, creative, wise, and silly, and it was such a lovely morning that I barely had time to think about missing my students and teacher friends and the morning recess bell and all of those dear things.

I met another old friend at 12:15 for another walk.  How lovely to see Sue Ellen’s new office where she works as a nurse midwife. We chose to walk through the nearby neighborhood and our conversation was interrupted by the many policemen cruising the streets. “They’d tell us if we were in danger, right?” we asked each other. Soon we saw the “criminal”–a grubby, very animated young man who was either high or having some mental health episode.  We chose to avoid the drama so turned around . . . and got lost. Neither of us had a phone and both of us are directionally challenged.  Ten minutes later, we laughed when we approached an intersection and discovered instead of going south, we’d gone north.

Currently my step counter reads 14,567 which is about 7 miles.  Not too shabby.  I’ve only had positive thoughts today and worked toward my goal of getting more exercise and diminishing stress (and the size of my belly).  I’ll end with this poem, by Namoi Shihab Nye:

A boy told me
if he roller-skated fast enough
his loneliness couldn’t catch up to him,
the best reason I ever heard
for trying to be a champion.
What I wonder tonight
pedaling hard down King William Street
is if it translates to bicycles.
A victory? To leave your loneliness
panting behind you on some street corner
while you float free into a cloud of sudden azaleas,
pink petals that have never felt loneliness,
no matter how slow they fall.

Cheers,

Mary