Lately I have felt like a 9 month pregnant 75 year old in the mornings. My joints are stiff, my face is puffy, my back feels like a 200 pound man is leaning across it. This does not make for a cheery start to the day.
This was one of those mornings. After doing a little yoga that helped moderately, reading the paper, half-heartedly eating peanut butter on english muffin, and then brooding in my bed while Silas napped, Ben made me get out of the house. We walked up the street -- he got his haircut and I bought what may be my last pile of fabrics for my quilt. (I finished sewing together all the patterned squares, now will add borders and sew the backing, then somehow figure out the business of batting). Despite the insistent sun, the blooms opening along bush and branch, the soft breeze off the unseen ocean, I kept caving into gloom and throwing my arms on top of my head -- some impulse for balance or protection -- and walked that way until I was ready to face the sky again.
When we got back, neighbors were scattered around the complex sanding down a front door, washing upstairs windows with a long brush, tending to potted plants. Most of these people are casual, friendly neighbors with whom I do nothing more than exchange smiley hellos. But as we wandered toward our house, I in the privacy of my own gloom, Silas crabbing and Ben wondering what had become of his family, Ben started offering up "Bronwen is pissed today" to anyone who asked how we were.
Someone laughed. Someone just glanced at me and kept working. Someone said, "really?" at which point I had to smile and say, uh yeah, big funk or something equally as articulate. And Ben, who had no interest in relenting, kept calling a spade a spade as he left me at the door and headed to the car to get a burrito (and escape from me). And despite myself, the more he pulled my big rope of gloom out into the middle of the complex, the more my broodiness began to dissipate a little.
It is a couple hours and half a burrito later later and the day is still shadowy all around the edges, but I am finding my way back to gratitude, or at least trying. That seems to be the only way i know to try to relocate my feet and find something to stand on.
They just walked in the door -- apparently, while Ben was fixing a sprinkler head, Silas crawled straight for the pool and tried to get in feet first (at least he knows how to properly enter large bodies of water...) -- Ben nabbed him more than his pajamaed right foot was in...