Louder Than Sirens, Louder Than Bells

A++ would blog again.

Thanks, random spammer, for that considerate opening line.

I am in the midst of my new four favorite hours.  Goodness knows I love my sister and I don’t want her to have to work obnoxiously spread apart hours which makes for a much harder schedule than, say, just an eight hour work day, BUT, these four hours, holy shit.  This quietude is remarkable.  Not that A and I spend a lot of time reviewing the day and chatting and shooting the breeze which is fine, it’s just…this is Tibetan Buddhist Monastery Quietude.  This is let’s plan for and make change quiet.  Writing quiet.  Personal, deep, salving aloneness.

I am very grateful to have this right now when my brain is buzzing all the time from work and I want to be more conscientious and thoughtful about my projects and plans and future and clean up and not feel that eternal, but unintended consequence of cleaning or working when others are not…eventually, it just becomes an excuse to stop.  I have missed being alone.  Reminds me of college – in a good way.  It makes me feel energized in a way I have allowed myself to recharge in months.  Seriously.  It’s only four hours but I feel so much more human.  I still need to sleep, but yeah, better.

But other things did happen today aside from me salivating over being alone.   I asked and was kindly granted leave to take off three hours early for my nephew’s birthday which was a pretty low-key family thing since he’s having another friend party later.  It was at a local hibachi restaurant and it was really wonderful.  It was just a couple hours and I had spicy garlic chicken, but it was nice to see everyone.  I was reminded, unpleasantly, that my nephew is turning sixteen and that my 10 year high school reunion is in two years.   That’s a fact that I find almost offensive in its veracity.  I always felt like that would be out there in the distance, but like a horizon, a rainbow’s end, it wasn’t a place that one could actually reach.  But kids grow up.  My niece is 11 and taking guitar lessons.

I necessarily think back to my blue guitar that I bought and my big plans despite the fact that my singing could set cats to wailing.  There’s a certain parallel to my current situation, something to be gleaned from that memory.   I stopped trying because a.  I had no teacher and b. I couldn’t bare to build up the calluses.  It felt like running my fingers across a lemon zester.  I was sure that I was doing it wrong to have such pain.  And I quit.  I certainly don’t wish that kind of agony on my dearest niece, but I also hope that if she feels it, she pushes herself through it and is able to determine if she likes playing guitar on its own merits.

It also makes me want to take lessons myself.  That, I know, is a passing fancy that was nothing to me yesterday and won’t mean anything to me tomorrow.

Water.  Check.  Big ol’ glass drunk.

We’ll pay the candy no mind.