The hackberry tree’s leaves waver slower than the walnut’s while the cedar sways as if under water. The dog sleeps on the worn planks of the porch, the cat sleeps on my bed inside, and the wind stays relatively quiet between splurges up and outward. Both my sons are inside, fixated on their computer screens. It’s the end of the week, and even the birds, quieter than usual seem to know it.
This has been one of those almost-lost days when whatever I planned to do was punctuated beyond recognition by what I did: the trip to the doctor’s office for Forest, who unfortunately picked up an evil little virus from his last trip to the doctor’s office. Or the long phone call to a Delta airline agent, when I had to repeat four times, “That’s A as in Apple, P as in Peanut Butter, then D as in Dead.” She replied, “D as in Delta?” I went with it, all in the name of clearing a tangle of on-line reservations for Ken and Daniel to fly to Nashville to move Daniel to Knoxville in August.
There was also the nap, necessary but short, the drive to the mailbox to find no mail had yet arrived, the need to make myself a cold caffeinated drink, the newspaper to look over, and a few odds and ends while I wondered what else I was supposed to do.
Working at home, and on my own schedule, can fade an afternoon to confusion, sudden stillness, or the occasional blend of both when I spend an inordinate amount of time wondering if a) I should work on the book proposal I’m tired of working on, b) Get a head start on Goddard work heading my way, c) Clean my house’s bedroom to see if he truly has enough shorts for the season, or d) Forget it all, and go see “Men in Black III.”
But the day was too lovely, the porch too comfortable, the dog’s eyes too earnest in begging me to stay with him, and the trees too green. Where would I rather be than right here, at home and in beauty although the interruptions keep coming (such as one two second ago when my son wanted to know my schedule for tomorrow, and I couldn’t think clearly enough to tell him)?
Besides, I remind myself, it’s Friday afternoon. Shabbat begins soon, and although I often don’t observe it, I know all too well the old adage: those who don’t make a time of rest for themselves will have it made for them. Seems my sabbath just arrived a few hours early.