John’s weekend at the train club was on the calendar, so his leaving didn’t take me by surprise. This one started earlier than expected. He usually leaves around six, but I heard the ice rattling at five and didn’t go back to sleep. The previous days had been busy. I didn’t plan anything special to do, knowing that days tend to fill themselves up without my help. When I got home from walking, I realized that I did all the talking – to myself. Evidently I was just as nice to myself as John would have been.
I was tempted to take the day off by not allowing any sentence to begin with “I ought to ….” That didn’t work. While eating breakfast, I saw weeds dancing in the wind, taunting me. I rose to the challenge and sadistically enjoyed seeing them wilt in the cart.
Reading email and blog messages took hours. Even though people have asked how long I stay glued to the monitor, I have resisted timing it. They may need to know, but I’m sure I don’t. With words flowing in and out, I wasn’t aware of being alone.
Toward evening I listed accomplishments – weeding, cleaning the coffeepot, reading the newspaper, cleaning the fountain that had run faultlessly for months until today, doing two bank recs, and washing dishes. Now was the time to unwrap the book that NY friend Nancy sent me several weeks ago. Could it have been a year since I held a novel in my hands? Blogging friends read several books a WEEK, and I sometimes manage one a year. Shameful! The author’s preface drew me in, and I was engrossed with the first chapter. A blank page made me realize I was sitting in a chair reading, not living the story of an 11-year-old girl. After a pause to eat a tomato sandwich, I became a college student and middle-aged widow. Whoa! I lost myself in that book! I was virtually the main character for hours with no thought that I existed. No wonder I don’t read very often. It’s an act of supreme irresponsibility. I must not pick up the book again until I’ve done something useful tomorrow.