The house and I are feeling our ages today. It is only the end of February, but it seems like the longest winter of my life.
The calico cat is snoring in her own rocker in the "cat cave" she has carved out of the quilt she pulled down onto the seat.
There's something healing about drinking coffee and mindlessly rocking in my chair as I listen to the house noises on a Sunday morning. Being an ancient house it is full of hisses and pops and groans -- especially this morning as it strains under the weight of the winter snows that have been falling since, well, fall! The wind is calm, so the drafts are few across the wooden floors and the rattlings of the windows are little staccato bursts of brrrrr.
Weekday mornings are rushed and harried - up at o'dark-thirty, feed the cat, catch some time with God on the porch, work-out to heart-thumping/rafter-raising music, shower, do a few house chores as I listen to the news only stopping to watch the weather update, then its grab my gear and head-out. Even Saturdays find me cleaning and making lists to the backdrop of Minnesota Public Radio, running errands, paying bills and catching up with friends. Six nights a week I fall into bed after another exhausting day of living.
Then comes Sunday.
Perhaps it is my age or just where I am in my life journey, but I find I am quite protective of my Sunday mornings. Such that I am more inclined to NOT go to church on Sunday, but squeeze it in on an occasional Saturday night. (my entire family may have just fainted)
On Sunday mornings when the alarm goes off I still get up at o'dark-thirty to feed the cat, but more often than not, I tuck myself back into bed to watch the dawn bring light into the room. Doing nothing. Just breathing and listening in the quiet. Until I am ready to stretch and putter out to the kitchen to start the coffee.
On Sundays it isn't the usual routine of a few minutes stolen in the morning to spend on the front porch with God.
No.
On Sunday mornings, I watch the sun make it's way across the bluffs to crawl along the east side of the yard. Then, ever so gently, sift through the windows. Cast shadows on the walls as it spills into the rooms, filling them with light.
The light reaches me in my rocker. I sip on another cup of coffee. Breathing...in and out. Time is slow and my mind is thinking about nothing at all as the house groans, hisses, pops and the cat snores.
