Sleep.2

I am in bed reading a book. After I left the bed and sleep so reluctantly this morning, I am now equally reluctant to get here and give in to sleeping. Just one more page. Partner breathes slowly next to me, his body warm and familiar against mine. I try not to flop around too much so I don’t wake him, but I have to shift the book from time to time so my hand doesn’t fall asleep. I like to read in bed, because it’s quiet. But also because in bed, I can hold the book close enough to my face that I don’t need to wear my glasses.

My granddad used to tell me that reading without my glasses for a few minutes every day would make my eyes stronger. I think about this every time I put down my glasses and pick up a book. I don’t know whether granddad’s advice was reasonable, but it’s a caring little bit of him that is always with me. 

I know, as I turn the page that I should be sleeping. Just one more chapter. Section. Page. I know that it will feel good to turn out the light and squeeze myself closer to Partner. I know that the warm blankets will feel good on my cool arms, but I savor this silent aloneness for a few more minutes. This quiet buffer between the business of my day and the oblivion of sleep. 

Sleep.1

I am asleep in my bed. I am sleeping well. I am warm and cozy. Ok, I’m not really asleep. An hour ago, Partner’s alarm went off, and he got out of bed. He went off to do whatever he does when everyone is asleep. Grind coffee beans in the laundry room so he doesn’t wake anyone. And listen to NPR in his bathrobe. I’ve often thought of joining him during this early morning quiet time, just to sneak extra minutes for us. But I don’t because I don’t think I’m much of a morning person. The real problem is that I can’t give up this. This delicious warm drowsy darkness where I’m asleep enough to be oblivious but juuuuuust awake enough to appreciate it. 

When Partner’s alarm went off, I scooched over to his spot to better reach the clock and then drifted back into the semi-oblivion. When my alarm went off five minutes ago, I hit the snooze and sprawled out flat on my back to wait out my five minutes. I am still more asleep than awake, though I can hear Partner finishing his morning shave in the bathroom. I am dimly aware when he gets into the shower moments later. 

When my alarm goes off a second time, I hit the snooze again within the first two wonks. That’s what the alarm sounds like: wonk wonk wonk. I don’t immediately move though, and the thought of turning off the alarm clock and going back to sleep always crosses my mind. The next thought is always a mashed up brain-image of all my responsibilities, pummeling my consciousness like a prickly cold snowball. So I get up, turn on the light, wondering why I do this every morning when the bed and sleep are so perfectly enticing, so druggingly cocooning, wondering how anyone else manages to get up when the alternative is snuggly bliss. Wondering just how many people choose the bed instead. 

The Dogs of Summer

The weather in this part of Texas is a little warm. And by “a little warm” I mean that we’ve been hanging out around 100F/38C for weeks. With no rain. This weekend the weather gurus are forecasting a hop up above 104F/40C before gliding back into the recent pattern. We’re experiencing a very dry (as in no rain) summer, in addition to a dry (as in slightly less humid) spell of air (possibly thanks to Hurricane Irene sucking all of the moisture from the atmosphere of the Western Hemisphere), but this is not a dry heat. This is air that might be able to support sea life.

August (and by “August” I mean August and September, which are virtually interchangeable, weather-wise) is traditionally very hot in this part of Texas. That fabled time of year when people talk about the air going out of everything. By which they mean that the brisk daily sea breeze sort of peters out, letting that moist air lay down upon your skin like a damp blanket that’s been tossing in the clothes dryer for a few minutes. August is the month that people Endure in this part of Texas. Endure for the promising possibility of beautiful weather and flip-flops in October and November. Endure for the potential gift of wearing shorts and a t-shirt in the sunshine on Christmas. 

So in August, we move our bodies very slowly, to conserve energy. We travel from shady spot to shady spot, and if we are dogs, we pant. We move our brains very slowly, because the hot haze seeps in and makes complex thinking difficult. We hold dripping wet glasses full of ice water to our foreheads and dream of that cool October breeze that will stir us from the lethargy of August.

*** 

Editor’s Note: Two hours after I wrote this piece, out of the (hot) clear, blue sky, rain clouds rolled in. For about an hour I watched the sky get very dark, the clouds build into black castles of vapor. The wind blew very hard, pushing around the dust that had nothing to hold it to the ground. I wondered if this storm could be all bluster and no punch. The temperature dropped significantly. The straight wind started swirling. A few big, fat, rain drops made dots on the sidewalk, then evaporated in seconds as I watched them. I looked at the sky and wondered if the dots would be connected. I gave up and went in the house. The plink, plink, think of raindrops against the kitchen vent hood drew me to a window to witness the most beautiful downpour I’ve seen in a long time. A light to moderate rain fell for almost two hours, complete with thunder and lightning. Another booming storm woke us during the night, and another tripped in as the kids were going to school this morning. As far as drought goes, this is just a drop in the bucket, but we’ll take it. And this rain only changes our August behavior slightly. As we hold the dripping glasses to our skin, we will also be swatting mosquitoes.

Sonars Overheard

Around the lunch table at home, the conversation bounced from their favorite line in The Princess Bride…

“Stop rhyming and I mean it!”

“Anybody want a peanut?”

…to Star Wars…

“Do. Or do not. There is no try.”

Until we got this delicious little mash up (complete with throaty noises)…

“Hello. My name is Yoda Montoya. You are my father. Prepare to die.”

*     *     *

In the car ride on the way to New Mexico a lengthy discussion about wizardry and magic led them to concluce that while using magic would be very cool, it would probably create worse problems. Like crazy power-hungry people with access to crazy amounts of power who might raise the dead and make zombie minions. Or accidental instant rapid self-combustion.

*     *     *

In the art museum play space…

SX6 (wearing a crown): You can be the king and send me on a quest to kill the evil jester.

SX11 (dressed in jester’s motley, with a sword): And then the evil jester kills the king!

SX8 (wearing a “wizard hat” that looks suspiciously like a sombrero, whispering): Mom’s writing down everything we’re saying on the back of my drawing.

SXMom (me!): No I’m not…. I’m writing it on the back of MY drawing.

Maybe I need elbow grease?

I have spent the past few weeks in an epic toss and declutter mission throughout our house. We have trashed and donated a huge amount of stuff. Though I’m normally a (compulsively) list-oriented person, this (spring) summer cleaning has unfolded organically. I’ve moved from drawer to shelf to closet as function struck me. 

Big jobs and small. Electronic and physical. Organizational and emotional. I have tackled it. I washed curtains! We even helped Sonar X11 face his burgeoning micro-hoarding tendencies. There is more, of course. In a functioning household, there is always something else that can be tidied up or sorted out.

In the middle of this cleaning frenzy, I also sewed, and baked, and knit, and planned for the upcoming school year. The house feels good.

There’s one problem.

This domestic sifting and discarding elbowed out other things. Like the writing. I know the Order will be pleasant when the writing recommences. I appreciate that.

But dude. The writing needs to start elbowing back.