Relatively Uncomplicated
It's amazing how relatively complex life isn't, when I'm not trying to be in two places at once. I am relaxing, body, mind, heart, and soul, into this new routine. I want to describe it for you.
I return to consciousness before my alarm goes off. That is a wonderful feeling. Usually the sun wakes me (unruly sun!) with its long bright fingers. In my room there are two windows set close together, facing east. I have taken the bedstand away from my bed and turned it into simply a low, wide divan right under the windows. Thus the whole world is just a few inches away from my dreams, and the little breezes can chase themselves around my room all night. I look up at the moon as I am falling asleep, and wake to see first the sun rising over our tall trees. There is nothing that dazzles like a golden sun between enamelled leaves.
My room connects to the bathroom by a door, and since the boys are usually up before I am, I can hear Danya burble in the shower while I am--ahem--trying to have a Quiet Time. I love his singing, and it does not interfere with my devotions if the timing is right. If the timing is wrong, well... join in the joyful noise or get earplugs!
When the boys have finished, I begin to think seriously about getting out of bed. I don't actually do it, of course, until I have wiggled all my toes. Toe-wiggling is an important part of the levee process.
After ablutions and dressing and making the bed and hair and perfume and all that, I am ready to present myself to Mama. My mother believes in turning oneself out properly: neat, polished, and suitably attractive. She is herself a model of all three. We talk about everything and nothing, the day's business or last night's amusements, or matters of the heart and soul, while I make her bed--a service which gives me much delight--and she makes her preperations for the day. Round about nine o'clock, I return to my room and gather up office paraphenalia while Mama does the same downstairs. We arrive at the warehouse about fifteen minutes later, and settle in for a day of hard but satisfying labor.
Inside the warehouse door, I can feel myself becoming a different person. Professionalism coats me like a fine veneer. I settle into Williamsburg. Check one: computer. Check two: stow away purse and keys. Check three: a square of dark Dove chocolate (breakfast). Check four: refill my large water bottle. Check five: email. Check six: headphones and music. Check seven: Which of a myriad of tasks shall I do today?
Several times a week I have some sort of a conference with Dana, our forum moderator and Book Selector Extraordinaire. Grace manages the bookstore, but Dana chooses the books. Today the conference was about medieval literature selections. I love picking up an office phone and hearing Dana's rich southern accent roll across the wire. Her chuckle is pure sunshine, and no one except my mother is more capable of combining fun with wisdom. We talked Norton and C.S. Lewis and Augustine's Confessions. Who wouldn't want to spend half an hour discussing such names?
I am the unofficial office lunch-getter. Today was rather confused: Jay, Marjorie, and I went to Giant, and Elijah ran out with a sandwich request at the last moment. By the time we were through at the food store, I had somehow acquired lunch orders for four people. We got it all back though, and it was all the right items for the right people, paid for with the right credit card here or the right cash there.
At 3 PM, Laura and I (Laura has just come back from Hillsdale, and I'm thrilled to have my friend working in the same office again this summer!) took our constitutional walk around the warehouse buildings. We've both grown up in the last year. We walked and talked, sipping bottled Starbucks and dodging the odd raindrop (funny weather lately).
By 5 PM, I was ready to go home. I took the car, stopped by CVS to drop off pictures for Marjorie, got into a traffic tangle (Maryland rush hour is no fun) and arrived somehow, fifteen minutes later than usual. Between 5 and 6:30 I can do pretty much as I like: tonight I took my recorder out to the garden and played until the daylight began to get a shadow.
Then dinner, and washing up, and then.... nothing. Most of the family was out for the evening. No homework. I was pleased to my very fingertips at this new sensation of lightness and freedom, now that there is no homework. Later perhaps I will exercise on our elliptical, which always gives me such a nice warm tired glow, and helps me to sleep. But right now it feels good to be alive, among the silvery brocade pillows and luster of mahogany in my room. The moon has not yet risen. Perhaps I will brew myself a nice little pot of peppermint tea and practice a woodland tune. Perhaps not. But whatever I do, I must take this opportunity to say what has been growing in my heart ever since I sat down and began writing....
There must be a God, and not only that, but He must be splendid. How else can I explain all this?
I return to consciousness before my alarm goes off. That is a wonderful feeling. Usually the sun wakes me (unruly sun!) with its long bright fingers. In my room there are two windows set close together, facing east. I have taken the bedstand away from my bed and turned it into simply a low, wide divan right under the windows. Thus the whole world is just a few inches away from my dreams, and the little breezes can chase themselves around my room all night. I look up at the moon as I am falling asleep, and wake to see first the sun rising over our tall trees. There is nothing that dazzles like a golden sun between enamelled leaves.
My room connects to the bathroom by a door, and since the boys are usually up before I am, I can hear Danya burble in the shower while I am--ahem--trying to have a Quiet Time. I love his singing, and it does not interfere with my devotions if the timing is right. If the timing is wrong, well... join in the joyful noise or get earplugs!
When the boys have finished, I begin to think seriously about getting out of bed. I don't actually do it, of course, until I have wiggled all my toes. Toe-wiggling is an important part of the levee process.
After ablutions and dressing and making the bed and hair and perfume and all that, I am ready to present myself to Mama. My mother believes in turning oneself out properly: neat, polished, and suitably attractive. She is herself a model of all three. We talk about everything and nothing, the day's business or last night's amusements, or matters of the heart and soul, while I make her bed--a service which gives me much delight--and she makes her preperations for the day. Round about nine o'clock, I return to my room and gather up office paraphenalia while Mama does the same downstairs. We arrive at the warehouse about fifteen minutes later, and settle in for a day of hard but satisfying labor.
Inside the warehouse door, I can feel myself becoming a different person. Professionalism coats me like a fine veneer. I settle into Williamsburg. Check one: computer. Check two: stow away purse and keys. Check three: a square of dark Dove chocolate (breakfast). Check four: refill my large water bottle. Check five: email. Check six: headphones and music. Check seven: Which of a myriad of tasks shall I do today?
Several times a week I have some sort of a conference with Dana, our forum moderator and Book Selector Extraordinaire. Grace manages the bookstore, but Dana chooses the books. Today the conference was about medieval literature selections. I love picking up an office phone and hearing Dana's rich southern accent roll across the wire. Her chuckle is pure sunshine, and no one except my mother is more capable of combining fun with wisdom. We talked Norton and C.S. Lewis and Augustine's Confessions. Who wouldn't want to spend half an hour discussing such names?
I am the unofficial office lunch-getter. Today was rather confused: Jay, Marjorie, and I went to Giant, and Elijah ran out with a sandwich request at the last moment. By the time we were through at the food store, I had somehow acquired lunch orders for four people. We got it all back though, and it was all the right items for the right people, paid for with the right credit card here or the right cash there.
At 3 PM, Laura and I (Laura has just come back from Hillsdale, and I'm thrilled to have my friend working in the same office again this summer!) took our constitutional walk around the warehouse buildings. We've both grown up in the last year. We walked and talked, sipping bottled Starbucks and dodging the odd raindrop (funny weather lately).
By 5 PM, I was ready to go home. I took the car, stopped by CVS to drop off pictures for Marjorie, got into a traffic tangle (Maryland rush hour is no fun) and arrived somehow, fifteen minutes later than usual. Between 5 and 6:30 I can do pretty much as I like: tonight I took my recorder out to the garden and played until the daylight began to get a shadow.
Then dinner, and washing up, and then.... nothing. Most of the family was out for the evening. No homework. I was pleased to my very fingertips at this new sensation of lightness and freedom, now that there is no homework. Later perhaps I will exercise on our elliptical, which always gives me such a nice warm tired glow, and helps me to sleep. But right now it feels good to be alive, among the silvery brocade pillows and luster of mahogany in my room. The moon has not yet risen. Perhaps I will brew myself a nice little pot of peppermint tea and practice a woodland tune. Perhaps not. But whatever I do, I must take this opportunity to say what has been growing in my heart ever since I sat down and began writing....
There must be a God, and not only that, but He must be splendid. How else can I explain all this?
posted by Praelucor at 9:40 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home