creature comforts & hunts
Just after the noon hour, sunlight streams in from a high window in the back of our house during this time of year. The beams land squarely on comfy pillows residing on our couch of late. During other times of year, the beams showcase dust that needs tending or dog hair that needs sweeping (I try to time visitors accordingly). More times than not this week, with bitterly cold temps outside, I close my eyes and let the sun bake my face as I rest my head on the couch pillows. It gives credence to siestas that more cultures should embrace. It makes me understand how some of our dogs' best hunts involve the sun on our tile floor. It’s become a window to do what those who know have advised in recent weeks—”Save yourself for when the kids get home.”
The other night, as I tossed and turned, I finally got up to restart the dryer just so I could hear it tumbling from the other side of the wall. Growing up, my sisters and I often fell asleep to the sound of dishes being done and laundry getting cycled through. Being a night owl, my Mom would seize on the end of day time and space to get those tasks finished. Those home sounds—even now—provide a lull of comfort. It wasn’t a cure all for sleep sought, but it sure felt like a hug.
The Mister and I held down the furniture, cozied under blankets, and enjoyed a morning news program on Sunday that we haven't watched in I don’t know how long. In doing so, we learned about a champion cheese maker who we’re gonna have to figure into our travel time to the cabin this summer. All hail the curds! With snow coming down, a kind neighbor who cleared our drive, and another kind soul who came to shovel the steps, we rested. It felt like that moment when we first had kids and I thought, “What did we DO with all of our time before this?!” It was a Sunday slip of permission to just be.
I remember the last time I felt that way—when I would nap when the children would afternoon sleep during the summer we lived overseas. In our tight London flat quarters, the best thing I could do when they were slumbering wasn’t chores or busy work, but to follow their lead. Resting when they rested, I was saving myself for the kids—fresh faced when it was time for the afternoon market or park tour before dinner. It was just us, it was pared down distractions, it was a time away together.
That era was memory bank building, often enchanted, and a so many things to cherish tour. I say this because I also remember that time away being sometimes hard, sometimes lonely, and then over before I could believe it.
This current tour of chemo recovery every other week requires a bit more focus to hold onto the good, let go of the hard, and simmer in the moments that speak to the heart. But maybe it, too, will be over beore I know it.
First, though, we have to get through it.
When the kids were first on the scene, a dear cousin sent us We’re Going on a Bear Hunt. It was referenced about a year ago when we were talking about a movie we’d just seen with the kids. While addressing the hard times that the family had experienced I said, “That’s the deal, guys—when you’re family, sometimes you just gotta get through it.”
“Like Going on a Bear Hunt,” my other half brilliantly offered.
We’ve been referring to that board book ever since, and especially of late.
“Can’t go around it, can’t go over it, can’t go under it—ya just gotta get through it.”
Maybe that’s part of the hibernation that is now… so timely with the weather, with Lent on our doorstep, with the body dictating the spirit’s need to respond—with rest, with tucked in time for rebooting, with an appreciation for what’s been, what is, and what will be. …and all of that made possible with creature comforts, sunbeams, and the support of so many who champion our hunt along the way.
“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.”