Inspiration Point

I am completely uninspired this morning. Most posts, just in case you were wondering, come to me like a thought bubble as I go through my day (Hmmmm...I need to write about that) or as my head hits the pillow at night (I prefer the former as pillow thoughts lead to long nights of mental note taking). You would think, as I did when I fell asleep still “thoughtless” last night, that Hurricane Irene would be a logical topic for today. I can say that although the idea of a flooded basement (been there, done that, twice) was not at all appealing, I was sort of hoping for a few hours of no power and howling winds. I was looking forward to hunkering down (don't hear that one much anymore, felt appropriate here) for a mother-nature-enforced, electricity-free, lazy day. Dirty laundry and messy closets can remain untouched (no power, no guilt) and food has no calories. Irene has brought me no such day, she was a tease, and nobody likes a tease.

From my living room window (writing from the couch in there this morning) I see a steady rain and some basic tree swaying. It feels more like a rainy morning at camp than anything else (“indoor activities and raincoats today”). I am enjoying the quiet; even Jeffrey (who normally jumps from project to project) has joined me in the living room (on the other couch), happily tapping away on his laptop. I'm sure he is doing work (definitely not blogging or on Facebook) but it’s nice to have the company even if the only conversation is the chatter of fingers on keyboards. The living room, almost never occupied without company present, (and even then I need food as a lure to move people out of the kitchen), is one of my favorite spots in the house. Specifically, the window-facing couch where I curl up with my legs tucked behind me on most nights between 5 and 6 pm to relish the calm before the nighttime hustle of dinner and dishes. This couch, as opposed to the leather seating in the family room, is soft chenille and stuffed to just the right comfort level (forgiving but not enveloped).  Almost every item in this room, (just did a quick survey, every item excluding the couches) holds the memory of someplace else. Our parents’ houses are both here, our grandparents, my great-aunts and even my great-grandmother. This furniture is not hand-me-down, it’s passed down, and I am privileged to hold it until it travels again to another generation.  On the furniture are Wooden boxes, glass objects and silk embroidered pillow covers, all found in tiny street shops and carried home in the luggage from all our vacations. Paintings that can be spotted in the background of old family photos, the needlepoint chair and footrest I remember from my Nana's house, and the grandfather clock from Jeffrey's Poppa Lou's, all add beauty and history to my retreat. There is a piano (a relative of my fathers cherished baby grand) that I wish I could play (other than my better than expected versions of Moonlight Sonata and Fur Elise, still hiding in my fingertips from childhood lessons).  There is no TV, no phone and no other houses in view out the window. This spot relaxes me, restores me, and reminds me.

It's 12:39 pm and Irene is still more bark than bite. Television crews are busy finding evidence of tragedy (If you can physically count the number of trees down in an entire town, and it's 29, not sure that's newsworthy) and the unlucky “location” reporters are steady on their feet against the “hurricane force winds.”  I just received an automated emergency phone call informing me that my town has declared “a state of emergency.”  From my now reclining position on the comfy couch, surrounded by lights, air conditioning, television, washing machine, X-Box and oven all in use; this part of town has apparently been spared. I'm finding it hard to rationalize the anticipated gorging on storm provisions purchased in yesterday's preparedness mission. Will PB & J on Wonder Bread be as perfect with power? Can Jeffrey's slow-simmered chili be as tasty if not eaten by candlelight? I decide to bond with my townsfolk – if they are in “a state of emergency”  then I will stand with them and stay home safe, not do laundry and eat with abandon for preservation.  Irene, you have disappointed me like a snow day without snow, but at least you did give me something to talk about.