Desert island selection

It was nearly impossible to love our house as much as it needed to be loved. I’d sit in the backyard and pretend I was at a resort the way the tall trees looked, the angle of the moon coming up, the birdsong. The suburbs weren’t bad. They weren’t cool either, but who needed cool?

I smacked a mosquito on my arm and it made a skid mark. And then I put it on the arm chair as a warning to the others. It was the last time this chair was going to get used as it tore when I sat down and now it tilts. I’d march it down the road for the trash pickup tomorrow.

When my therapist asked if I could imagine I was at my very favorite place, wherever that was: and I said our backyard, she smiled and said that’s funny, most people say an island or somewhere far away. And why was I hurrying off to sleep every night? These were nights for living long.

Charlotte and I drove to the Dairy Queen for an ice cream and then pulled into a parking lot and ate it with the windows down not saying much. Then I napped in the hammock with Billy Collins and woke late for dinner plans at Beth’s. We sat on the deck snacking and then I grilled sausages. Later I refilled the hummingbird feeders and watered the potted plants and got the fans going when it started to cool down.

In the morning I set the sprinkler and drank coffee with the cat on my lap while laundry spun in the dryer and the rest hung on the patio. It was nearly impossible to love our house as much as it deserved to be loved and you could say that about a lot of people too. I had to sneeze and the cat jumped off my lap with her ears pressed back, irritated.

And what are we without love and loss? All these spaces in between where it seems nothing happens. Maybe that’s what’s so amazing about love, it’s nearly impossible, too good to be true. We get distracted by all there is to do or fix and miss what’s right in our laps.

Categories: inspiration, writing

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17 replies

  1. Intriguing to follow this and look at parallels in my here-now. There are days I’d like to get AWAY from home (so many oughta-dos surrounding me) but as much as I enjoy traveling, coming home is always the best part.

    Especially like “nearly impossible to love our house as much as it needed to be loved” – yeah: my house deserves the embrace of dust-cloths, wet-mops, and STUFF-THINNING. Poor thing just takes on more and more from us! It all got lots thicker when we added the 2nd Labrador back in February.

    Liked by 1 person

    • STUFF-THINNING. Well said! I just feel so grateful for our lovely abode and more so post-pandemic (or in medias pandemic), knowing we’re going to be here a while still. That’s a good feeling, having been one who has trouble settling down and always imagining myself moving on to something different/“better.” Love the one you’re with!

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Nice one (and so was previous post). That mosquito swatting and exhibiting part stirred a memory – from a Mark Twain story perhaps?
    Here’s to the peaks and troughs of loss and love, and the climbs and descents and wandering in between.


    Liked by 1 person

  3. Aye, ’tis what must needs be done with mosquitos and other such varmints and ne’er do wells. Heads on poles. Clear warnings.

    It’s interesting that you often highlight mundane things like snacking, grilling sausages, filling the bird feeder, watering the plants, etc. It’s very Zen, in a chop wood, carry water, kind of way. That’s a good thing, by the by..

    Liked by 1 person

    • Aye, lad. I sometimes think you’d appreciate those Zen notes. I do what I can, which is all we can do. And don’t confuse “do” with be.


  4. Back yard is a great answer. So true how many of us think of a place we vacation to, maybe only once and years ago, as far away as it gets. These days when we go to bed, it’s still light out. Makes me think of the simpsons episode where Bart and Lisa are staying with the Flanders and they look out the window at bedtime and see kids running around, skipping rope, having fun.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Hey there! I know that going to bed with the light still out vibe. I like it! And you can’t help wake to it that way either right?! I think I know that Simpson’s episode…or one like that when they shut down the Itchy and scratchy show, so kids are forced off their TVs and then it’s this idyllic sweeping scene like the one you describe, which of course makes me think of “life w/o smartphones,” and how idyllic that would seem for our kids. You know, to go outside again and play. Sorry, buzz kill…

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Really nice, Bill. Warm and friendly and still a bit existential. Love that third para.

    Liked by 1 person

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