Thursday, December 10, 2009


Man, we've been having some weird weather here. Yesterday, we had (in no particular order) rain, snow, sleet, high winds, thunder and lightning, and sunshine. Go figure.

I woke up this morning and laid in the dark listening. I finally figured out what I was hearing. Nothing. "The wind has stopped," I whispered to Tim. And in just moments, he was whispering back, "Maybe not," as it picked up once again. Why we still whisper in the morning, when we are the only ones in the house, I do not know.

I've been slacking. The trip to the Unemployment Agency has sort of re-energized me. I've been doing a lot of navel gazing, and decided that, number one, I have to begin each day with a work out. I get up at 5:30 with Tim, pack his lunch, head back to my elliptical trainer (yep. I have one. I had to dust it before using it.) and begin a half hour work out while he's eating his breakfast and perusing the news on the computer.) The trainer is in a back room. It used to be a girl's bedroom, so it has a pink rug, pearl paint on the walls, and satin floral border. It has my old writing computer in there, on a desk. It is where I study. It has my keywound clock that chimes and ticks. It is now my room. My things. My place. My own.

I work out, staring out the window at the blueberry bushes stripped bare for the winter, and for one half hour, I sweat and hate life. I try to use that time for praying for others. It is a good time for that. A lot of faces spring to my mind, and I pray for them one at a time. It's also a good time for thinking. The final words of Hal's latest post keep springing to mind:

"Abruptly, I wake up. It's four in the morning, so I decide to get out of bed. I brew tea and get dressed. Remembering a mountain lion had been spotted in the area, I walk outside to check on the chickens and the llamas. Everything is okay. Then, as if on cue, I hear the rumble of a Harley on Bear Mountain Road, a mile or so away.

I close my eyes, standing there in the mild late-winter chill. I listen to that sound. I love where I live, I love my wife and son, and I'm grateful for my life in the here and now. But for a moment, as the Harley's muted roar fades into the darkness, I feel strangely homesick."

A middle aged woman pushes on in a dark room, staring out into a dim gray world, thinking about Hal, and his choices, thinking about her own choices. The elliptical whirs with her steady strides, and other times, other places, other people click by in review. The clock strikes, the workout is done, and she steps off the elliptical. Her own life resumes its steady pace. She can only hope to keep up.


Kelly said...

This post (and Hal's) leaves me with a strange, silent feeling.

That's not a bad thing.

BUSH BABE said...

*sighes deeply*
Kinda like that for us all, isn't it?