Dear Reader,
Some mornings Word Raccoon will not settle down to write. She wants to write, but then she finds a hundred things to notice and tries to follow them all at once, which results in her not writing.
Actually, that worked for me today. We had things to do!
I bribed her to clean the downstairs bathroom. She negotiated for two cookies instead of one with her tea, and I agreed if she’d get to work.
When she did finally clean, she was fearful that things in the curtained cabinet were going to fall out and conk her on the head. Especially the vintage jar filled with laundry pods.
She loves it, but also, it’s heavy. Which got her to thinking. We have been looking for just the right storage cabinet for the small space beside the washer, and WR and I decided that today was the day to shop for one online, and we did, successfully.
WR’s only complaint is that it’s white. I reminded WR that she has a whole arsenal of paint and wallpaper at her disposal. She said she’s not afraid to use it, either.
We all know that, Word Raccoon!
She started tossing all of the car care stuff out of the bathroom in preparation for the cabinet’s arrival. I mean, I’m with her on that, but she could wait until we’re done rearranging.
Now she’s talking about – gasp – decorating the bathroom beyond just the walls! Before now, there were no available surfaces, but when this cabinet gets here…
She’s shopping the house for items that would work before going elsewhere. Part of me wants to give her some of my beach finds, but imagining the porch without them causes my heart to contract. Mine! Mine, mine, mine!
During lunch, we listened to a lecture on Rilke. WR could barely chew her lettuce, she was in such awe. I told her more Rilke later. First, we chase the words for ourselves.
Or that’s the idea. This is supposed to be writing time before going-out time. There is entirely too much “going out” and socializing planned for this weekend for WR. She’s an introvert trending towards an ambivert, usually, though she’s not quite back to ambivert.
She’s grateful to have people in her life, and yet she’s also tired ahead of events.
Last night, when having dinner with friends, she found a couple of sparks of her old energy. It’s there, somewhere, it’s just in the regrowth stage.
Our friends asked about our poetry, and WR found the courage to talk about it as if it’s a normal assed activity. “It’s like wearing different dresses, or singing different genres of music,” she said when she tried to explain her probably alarming range of poems.
One friend said he had just one question: “Whatcha been smoking?” WR chortled and was not at all offended.
He also told her there are no waffle houses nearby. She is aware.
And for the record, WR does not smoke. Anything.
Speaking of wanting quiet, I’m reminded of a hectic morning in Paris a few years ago. I was overwhelmed and exhausted from the travel and schoolwork. Jetlag is no joke!
While Barry went to an atm, I slipped downstairs to grab us a table for breakfast.
The dining room was small. I scanned the options: the loud bunch? Absolutely not this morning. Then I spotted a playwright we knew sitting quietly by himself. I asked if Barry and I could join him, and he smiled and waved me over.
For a few minutes, we simply sat there together, sipping coffee in companionable silence. It was relaxing not to have to perform conversation for once, you know?
Then he told me he’d been hoping to talk to me anyway. He was staging a graduation reading of his play and wanted Barry and me to participate. I said yes. And honestly? It was SO MUCH FUN that I’m very glad I did.
Side note: during practice, I asked him for notes, and he said he preferred to see what I discovered in his writing. That was generous, although I was willing to adjust. (I admit to playing the comedic character broadly, though.)
Anyway, those few minutes of sitting with someone with quiet energy on a frantic morning were restorative. I’m still grateful.
WR misses other quiet moments from her past amid loud radiators and sun prying its way in through ancient blinds. She misses a squeaky chair and sagging stairs. They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone.
But I did know.
WR, I think it’s time you go take a nap, will you? You’re getting ridiculously sentimental. And is that a weather-induced headache?
Still here.
Drema
dremadrudge.com 