I forgot to take a writing journal; I forgot to take more than one book. And, even worse, I forgot to take a copy of “Night before Christmas.” (It had been my tradition to read this every Christmas Eve, and no, I haven’t committed all of it to memory.) I did, however, remember to take food (oh yeah, fundamental you say, and “dah” – but, it had to be the right food), I did remember to take the 3rd season of our favorite TV series, I did remember to take the gifts, I did remember to take holiday music, oh and just as importantly, I did remember the wine………..So, our weekend was quiet days of reading, cooking the essentials, sipping wine, walking Teddy (gentleman as he is, he gladly allowed me to walk with him - albeit, his four legs moved a bit faster than my two). The days were punctuated with marathon evenings of watching Mad Men and a delightful morning of gift opening.
Doing nothing and yet something – granting the self a time of contemplation, of rejuvenation. The nights were silent nights. It seemed decadent, this nothing yet something. Giving myself permission to sit out on the deck of the lake house, bundled in a parka, I listened to the wind moving the leaves against each other making a sound as if saying “shhhh” and commanding my brain to relish the silence, the cold. Glittering lights from docks across the water, whose reflections continuously move, decorate the scene. The “shhhh” of the wind blends with yet another sound, the motion of the water powered by this wind causing the waves to lap gently against the bulkheads, methodically, hypnotically saying relax, relax – and the silence of the night, the “sounds of silence,” seeps inside me, soothing my soul.
(Post Script: We, my daughter and I, have shared many marvelous trips. This short one, though, seemed somehow especially comforting.)
Doing nothing and yet something – granting the self a time of contemplation, of rejuvenation. The nights were silent nights. It seemed decadent, this nothing yet something. Giving myself permission to sit out on the deck of the lake house, bundled in a parka, I listened to the wind moving the leaves against each other making a sound as if saying “shhhh” and commanding my brain to relish the silence, the cold. Glittering lights from docks across the water, whose reflections continuously move, decorate the scene. The “shhhh” of the wind blends with yet another sound, the motion of the water powered by this wind causing the waves to lap gently against the bulkheads, methodically, hypnotically saying relax, relax – and the silence of the night, the “sounds of silence,” seeps inside me, soothing my soul.
(Post Script: We, my daughter and I, have shared many marvelous trips. This short one, though, seemed somehow especially comforting.)
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