Bright skies! Why not! Get out the bike! Ride to campus one more time!
It can be deceiving, that deeply blue Midwestern sky of ours.
But even as the cold hits me – in the feet, the neck (warmer scarf next time), the face, even as the tears of wind begin to push against the eyelids, I’m still bold, invincible! Warm inside! Glad I did this!
Then it gets tricky. Early afternoon, I waffle. I want that espresso down the hill. I make myself go, but I don’t like the effort. I have papers to read, but already, the concentration is teetering. A two hour late afternoon lecture and I am zapped. Tuckered out. Deflated.
When dusk comes (oh so very early now), the utter loneliness of a very busy week (month, semester) sinks in. The light is hollow, fading. I find it odd that this, in bars, is called a happy hour. Happy? At five? Maybe a long long time ago, when the kids were home. Maybe when I cooked dinner and watched them at the kitchen table doing homework, interrupting them, because I couldn’t help myself – I had so much to ask. Maybe then.
If dusk sucks, evenings are a time to recover. If I am at the shop (today, yesterday, tomorrow), I slide into an apron and become the person who’ll guide you through the essential oils from the south of France. The air in the shop is fragrant and warm. Therapeutic almost.
Late late evening. I’m home now. At this hour, chances are overwhelming that Ed will have fallen asleep, there on the wooden floor of an empty New York west village apartment. I Skype him. He’s been amply informed that I need pats today. That Ocean readers have stepped up to the plate. That he needs to step up as well. And now I hear it. Sort of. Pat... pat.... yawn.
In life, you have to know when to say "good enough."
For me, it is now getting awfully close to twenty-four hours of wakefulness. Still, I have a post to write and photos to inspect. I turn on the most perfect Italian music and get to it. With a smile.
Thank you for today's wonderful post. You have a rare talent for matching your words with photos that play off the theme and amplify the meaning. Your words: "I am like a wound-up toy at the moment when it’s ready to be released. I don’t just step out, I explode into the day!" are perfectly matched with the delightful photo of the flying skateborder.
ReplyDeleteI almost never explode into the day. Although I am up early, I like to ease into the day and am at my most creative and productive in the afternoon and then again late into the night.
Please let Ed know our thoughts are with him and hope all goes well.