Tripping the Light Domestic

Tripping the Light Domestic

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Sometimes the tasks of the day seem to weigh me down. They are just more to-dos in a sea of them. But other times, they are actions of such richness and delight that I wonder why I ever thought them otherwise.

Take today, for instance. Since I’m working at home I leisurely brewed a pot of tea, whipped up one of my strawberry milkshakes and had both at the ready as I read through email. It was a pleasure to give Copper his pill, to coax him to eat his breakfast by sprinkling a meaty treat on the dog food.

What makes the difference, I think, is time. When I rush through each chore, I am only in check-off mode. There is no presence. Whereas when I’m not in a rush, the day spreads out before me, a banquet of sights, smells and activities.

Tripping the light fantastic means dancing nimbly. Tripping the light domestic means walking lightly through the day.

Seek Discomfort

Seek Discomfort

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This morning I boarded the inbound Metro at the last minute, finding a full train for the second time this week. Though I often don’t get a seat on the way home from the office, I usually do get one on the way there, since I start at the end of the line.

But today, no way. So I set down my bag, pulled out my newspaper and settled in for the duration. It’s not a long ride, and I could use the standing time. Which is not to say I didn’t fantasize about someone popping up and offering me a seat. I wasn’t even sure that I would take it, but I wanted it to be offered. (Perverse, but true.)

That’s when I noticed the teenager in the yellow sweatshirt. He was sitting in one of the side-facing seats and was, like most riders, totally absorbed in his phone. His sweatshirt read “Seek Discomfort.” How ironic, I thought. Apparently, this did not extend to the discomfort of giving up his seat to a middle-aged woman.

But then, as if he read my mind, he looked up, caught my eye and smiled.  It was such a sweet smile. He must have been all of 15. “Would you like this seat?” he said.

“Oh, no,” I replied. “I’m fine. But thank you.”

He had sought discomfort. And so had I.

Back to Slow

Back to Slow

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Our little doggie has injured himself again. Like many of us who are getting older, he doesn’t always recognize the limits of his strength and endurance. We found him whimpering at the bottom of the deck stairs Monday night. Once again, it seems, the darkness and the stairs have done him in, and he now has his second torn ACL.

When he walks slowly, I walk slowly. So we strolled a few houses down and back this morning, taking in the fine new smell of the morning and getting a sense of the day.

As he sniffs, I look around. There was a fox, not more than 50 feet away, staring at us. Could Copper have possibly missed him? I think he did. Maybe the fox is why I woke to the sound of a crow caw. Was it a warning from one bird to his flock?

Closer to home, we ambled beneath the weeping cherry, now sparsely leaved. It was dripping pink petals the last time Copper was injured. We are charting the seasons with our strolls. I inhale deeply, ponder the dearness of this doggie, and walk on.

(Speaking of foxes, I snapped a photo of this one a few months ago in the backyard.)

Q4

Q4

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I believe this is my shortest blog title ever, though not my shortest blog post … at least I don’t think it will be!

It dawned on me the other day that I’m starting to think in quarters. Not 25-cent quarters, but business-year quarters. This is in part because I work for a nonprofit organization that talks of quarters, and I attend all-staff meetings that have recently begun happening four times a year rather than more often and more randomly.

And it was at that meeting, with its talk of the Q3 just ending and the Q4 to come, that I thought … hmmm, this is different: thinking in quarters rather than single months.  It’s perfect for the speeding up of time that seems to be more and more the subliminal topic of my days.

But it is also a convenient way to frame time, to chunk it up, so to speak. And although in one way it makes time speed up (already in the fourth quarter!), in another it makes it slow down (there are three months to measure instead of just one). It’s yet another way to live our lives … and I’m always looking for those.

Room with a View

Room with a View

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This morning I moved all my worldly office possessions a few steps down the hall into an office. It has four walls (one of them glass), no door and two huge windows. Best of all, I can turn off the overhead light and leave it off to my heart’s content.

Once they figure out how to mount my Mac monitor (this is most assuredly a PC environment) on a standing desk, I’ll be able to stand up in here too (something I was reluctant to do in Cubicle Land).

I write this post (quickly, during my break) looking southeast at the building across the courtyard and the train tracks that run all the way to Florida. Beyond the trees is the highway, then the airport, then the Potomac River and Maryland.

I’ve been lusting after an office since I arrived here, and I’ll only have this one a few months (we move to a new building next spring). But while I’m here, I plan to enjoy it. And sitting here looking out the window, laptop on lap, feet resting on trashcan … is an excellent way to begin.

Reaching Out

Reaching Out

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Last night at a neighborhood gathering I learned about the tragic death of a young father whom I’d met on a walk about a year ago. I only spoke once with him and his wife. They’d just bought a house whose former occupants I knew, and had just found a little snake when I happened by.

I assured them the snake wasn’t poisonous and that these things happen around here. (I’ve found snakes in our house a few times.) The couple was friendly, and for once I wasn’t hurrying so we could talk. We chatted about the neighborhood, I met their darling 6-year-old twins, and I’d think of the family often when I walked past their house.

Over the summer things didn’t seem right there. The house and yard looked abandoned, with tall grass and unkempt hedges. The couple was from India, so I thought maybe they’d taken an extended vacation to visit family.

But last night I learned the truth. The husband died suddenly months ago. The wife is staying here with her children, with various relatives coming over to help. Life has changed radically for this family.

Once I took in the news with its sadness, its revelation of that which we understand though seldom acknowledge — that life can change in an instant — what I was left with was the inadequacy of superficial knowledge.

We walkers in the suburbs think we’re keeping an eye on things, but really we see just the barest outline of it all.  To be fully plugged in means more than just walking through; it means staying put, listening, talking — reaching out.

Suddenly Cool

Suddenly Cool

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It was 37 last night here. I’m tempted to research highs and lows to learn just how long ago it was since we had such a temperature. Back to April, I imagine.

In honor of the brisk air, I’m back in black running tights and sweatshirt — and am wishing for socks that came up farther than my ankles.  Seasonal change may finally be upon us.

I’m no fan of cold weather, but once it’s here, I remember why we need it: to kick the fall foliage into high gear, to energize us — and, more than anything else, to provide variety.

It feels good to pull on tights — not just because they are warm, but because they are different.

Turning Right

Turning Right

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I left the house early, out for a walk and an artist’s date. The walk was one of the usuals — until I turned right instead of left at the end of Glade and ended up on an unpaved section of the Cross County Trail.

It slowed me down, this packed-dirt, root-strewn path. And slowing down was a good thing. I noticed the light filtering through the early autumn leaves, some just starting to change. I heard a bluejay squawk. Finally, I took my earbuds out so I could hear Little Difficult Run sing as it tripped over its large smooth stones.

Back to my car and inspired by the trail, I decided to drive past houses that line it. Some of them look small and down-sizable, worth a second glance.

Now I’m writing at a coffeeshop I recently discovered. The Doobie Brothers are playing, I’m tapping my feet and trying to concentrate.

Maybe not the perfect artist’s date, but it’s a start.

AC in OCT

AC in OCT

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I write from the comfort of an air-conditioned living room, a living room that, I believe, may never have been air-conditioned before in the month of October. But this is no ordinary fall.

It was 98 degrees here yesterday. We’re not alone, either. It was 92 in New York City and 96 in Wilmington, Delaware.

That weather patterns are changing is no secret. And we have the electric bill to prove it — with more AC days this summer than last and more last year than the year before. 
I remember when heat waves were, in fact, waves, and not tsunamis. But no matter, it is cooler today, and we will soon slip into a more seasonable pattern that will once again let us pretend that everything is as it should be.

Sports Writing

Sports Writing

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After reading about the Washington National’s stirring comeback to win a wild card berth in the National League play-offs, I had a thought. It probably won’t last, but it’s how I’m feeling today. And that is that, in my next life, I’d like to be a sports writer. Of course, that would require me to play and understand sports. But this will be my next life, so I may be stronger and more coordinated.

I’d like to be a sportswriter because it’s the one place in the newspaper where you can let fly (pardon the pun) with a description or two. Lyricism is not frowned on, nor is sentimentality.  You can write long and you can even write purple and it will not necessarily be edited out.

Furthermore, there is the theory (which seems truer to me through the years), that sport mirrors life  to an uncanny degree, and that in writing about it one is actually chronicling human nature with all its warts and halos. An infinitely rich and varied topic, to be sure.

But since it is not yet my other life (I’m thankful to say), I will have to content myself with reading about sports — rather than writing about them.

(Photo: Wikipedia)