Sunday, January 20, 2013 • Jackson Compound • 8:41 AM
I wake in such reluctance, such depression, these icy cold mornings, then languish in bed behind mumbled prayers and rem sleep dreams. When the sun reaches the windows, casting its warm, golden light, I remember the words, “I arise, Oh God, to do thy will.” And on those words I extract myself from cat and soft flannel-encased down, put bare feet on nubby carpet, and sleepily straighten the bedclothes, fluff pillows, arrange quilt and throws. Satisfied with the look of our lovely bedroom, I pull my faded chenille bathrobe around me and slip feet into fuzzy, blue slippers. I once gave these slippers to my mother for her old, knobby feet. (She gave them back when it was no longer safe for her to navigate in them.) I raise the pale honeycomb shades and let full light burst into the room. Now I’m ready to stumble into the kitchen where I boil water for tea and take care of my morning start-up chores.
I can waste an amazing amount of time on this ritual, which I follow with other forms of dawdling: writing this journal, reading meditations, playing Words with Friends on my iPhone, feeding treats to Punkin the cat. It’s lovely. Sun in my eyes, unfiltered orb in a cerulean blue sky, bright rays reaching through bare oak branches. When I allow myself the laziness, it is a delicious way to spend an hour or more.
The longer I sit, the more the details and tasks of life encroach on my mind, like unwelcome visitors knocking on the door, ringing the telephone, or pinging electronic reminders. I’ll answer these demands, calls and prompts soon enough. For now, sweet Keith Jarret jazz tunes stream from the Bose radio behind me and I count my blessings.
Hold on. If I really counted my blessings, I’d be here all day.
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