There is an unsettling stillness to the house that has begun bedding down in my brain, in my heart, now that the confusion of moving Kareema and Donovan out has passed. Even though we get together each evening, the quiet of the rest of the day cancels out the noise and chatter left behind after their visits. I hadn’t anticipated this. Just another adjustment to be made.
I went to bed early last night, around 9:30; early for me, anyway. Despite feeling bone tired as I slowly climbed the stairs, I couldn’t get to sleep right away. Tossed and turned so much that I loosened the sheets and got up around 12:30am to remake the bed. Went downstairs to check that all the lights were out and I had locked the doors. Picked up a small flashlight to take up to my room, in case the power goes off, not that I had reason to believe it might.
As I lay in the dark, trying all the old go-to-sleep tricks my mother used to tell us to do, the house talked to me, creaking and groaning, as it has every night for the last 24 years that I’ve lived here. I still don’t know what it’s trying to tell me, though I listen hard and with an open heart.
Just as I began drifting off, the Canada geese squadrons flew overhead, honking to one another, the drill sergeants calling out sharply to the stragglers, the ones out of step…out of flap, I guess. Each fall, I would listen for them; try to catch sight of them in the night sky. I’ve been so preoccupied with divorce, financial woes, and taking care of daughter and grandson over the last three years that I hadn’t heard them. I opened the window near my bed to hear them better. For almost fifteen minutes, squadron after squadron of honkers passed overhead, going south. Don’t know if there were more after that, because I fell asleep to the soft honking. Such a wonderful sound.
Today has been rainy and dreary, which I usually don’t mind at all. I usually call these days “beautiful Seattle days,” but today I just feel melancholic. The house is growing cold, the temperature falling below 66F last I looked. I’m trying to resist turning on the furnace until the thermostat reads 64 or lower – trying to make the fuel oil go a little further.
The kids are coming for supper in awhile, so I’m headed to the grocery store. When I return, I think I’ll make a pot of delicious, malty Assam, do a load of dishes and prepare the fixings for homemade pizzas – always fun to make.
I went to bed early last night, around 9:30; early for me, anyway. Despite feeling bone tired as I slowly climbed the stairs, I couldn’t get to sleep right away. Tossed and turned so much that I loosened the sheets and got up around 12:30am to remake the bed. Went downstairs to check that all the lights were out and I had locked the doors. Picked up a small flashlight to take up to my room, in case the power goes off, not that I had reason to believe it might.
As I lay in the dark, trying all the old go-to-sleep tricks my mother used to tell us to do, the house talked to me, creaking and groaning, as it has every night for the last 24 years that I’ve lived here. I still don’t know what it’s trying to tell me, though I listen hard and with an open heart.
Just as I began drifting off, the Canada geese squadrons flew overhead, honking to one another, the drill sergeants calling out sharply to the stragglers, the ones out of step…out of flap, I guess. Each fall, I would listen for them; try to catch sight of them in the night sky. I’ve been so preoccupied with divorce, financial woes, and taking care of daughter and grandson over the last three years that I hadn’t heard them. I opened the window near my bed to hear them better. For almost fifteen minutes, squadron after squadron of honkers passed overhead, going south. Don’t know if there were more after that, because I fell asleep to the soft honking. Such a wonderful sound.
Today has been rainy and dreary, which I usually don’t mind at all. I usually call these days “beautiful Seattle days,” but today I just feel melancholic. The house is growing cold, the temperature falling below 66F last I looked. I’m trying to resist turning on the furnace until the thermostat reads 64 or lower – trying to make the fuel oil go a little further.
The kids are coming for supper in awhile, so I’m headed to the grocery store. When I return, I think I’ll make a pot of delicious, malty Assam, do a load of dishes and prepare the fixings for homemade pizzas – always fun to make.
(c)2009 Martha McLemore
14 comments:
It's the season, I think. The days are getting shorter and the cool weather makes it all seem sort of sad.
Maria:
Perhaps so, although this is my favorite time of year. Might have been my restless night, too.
Or, maybe something else entirely, lurking beneath the surface.
Where did I put that chocolate? Chocolate always makes things feel better.
:)
(o)
Bonne nuit, Zhoen.
:)
Melancholy's not always a bad thing, as long as you can feel it without getting to the point of wallowing in it.
The honking geese and tea are such comforting elements shining through this particular melancholia, I'm glad you had them. And I hope prepping that pizza and enjoying it with your family was a bright, happy thing for you all.
Kali:
Our supper plans changed and we had soup and sandwiches, which were good, too. We rented a movie, The Battle for Terra, a nice little story of war and peace and living in harmony wth one another.
The geese were a gift from the universe, made me feel connected again.
The melancholy lifted with the steamy fragrance from the pot of Assam.
All is right with the world inside the house at 218 once more.
Thank you.
:)
Glad to see you're feeling better. Another favorite author, Italo Calvino said, 'There is no such thing as happiness, only lesser shades of melancholy.'
It's a beautiful word.
It's tempting to regard the passage of the geese as some kind of metaphor; but enough of that poetical nonsense, it's far healthier to think of them as a seasonal phenomenon. As to sleep, I need less and less of it. During my verse-writing phase I tested out lines in iambic pentameter by tapping out the syllables with my fingers on my thigh; this was handy since one line equals ten syllables. Frequently I became too successful, finding myself with four lines in my head. At this point I would become worried that all would have disappeared by the morning. I think I'd have been better off checking the doors were locked. Awake at 3 am and you become a vulnerable child again; at least adulthood seems preferable.
Susan:
I've liked the word melancholy since shortly after hearing the song, "Melancholy Baby," for the first time.
:)
"Awake at 3 am and you become a vulnerable child again..."
And is the reason the flashlight went upstairs with me, as you neatly surmised.
Did you rise and write down those four lines, or did you let them drift away, like a dream?
:)
Beautiful passage describing being carried away by the winged travellers.
Hello, Susan:
Your visit is a pleasant surprise, as was your blog when I followed my nose from the Coffee Messiah's blog. I especially enjoyed the Great Detective vignette.
I do feel carried away with the sound of the geese. The sound is comforting, marks the changing of the seasons.
:)
Darker nights, darker mornings can lead to melancholia. I've noticed I get tired more easily at this time of year.
It's why I try to make more of an effort to appreciate what nice weather we get now.
As for not sleeping. I struggled with it when younger. My imagination would keep me awake.
If I struggle now I just get up and read. I don't fight it. My body will force me to slepp at some point and once I accept that I generally nod off......eventually.
I think the melancholia was a delayed reaction to moving Karie and Donovan out of my home. Perhaps a little unreasonable guilt thrown in for good measure. A small part of me can't justify their living in a motel room when I have a house with two empty rooms. I don't like watching them struggle from the sidelines when I know I could "fix it" by inviting thrm back home.
The realization that nothing would be fixed if I do that is part of what eats at my soul when night falls.
This adjustment we all are making is part of the process necessary for my daughter to take up her responsibilites and provide for herself and her son. It is also part of the process necessary for me to let go of responsibilities that aren't mine.
I look forward to this time of year. It is winter that drags me down.
:)
Post a Comment