Friday, January 30, 2015

For My Mother #2

January 30, 2015
This morning as I was running the water in the downstairs bathroom to keep the pipes clear I was thinking about how lucky I am. This life of mine is like the retired life (well, a retired life without a pension or time on a golf course, but I’m okay with that). I have a short list of chores to keep track of, I have things to watch out for, but then I have the time to do whatever else I want. Flashing back to my past, I remembered myself sitting at the reception desk of the job I had, the place where I first dreamed so vividly of freedom, and then I looked out the bathroom window at the banks of snow, at the evergreens and barren trees, and the furrowed paths made by hungry moose looking for their next meal and realized the freedom I have.

The days speed by. I get up every morning and do the same chores. I drink my coffee and work a crossword puzzle. At night, after whatever kind of day I've had, whatever work I've done, I settle back with a glass of wine and wish that that decadent time were longer, that bedtime didn't come so soon. For the months that I'm caretaking here in the wilderness I have peace, I'm here, I'm now, my life has the security of a "long" time in one place. In these moments, all I have to think about are what meals I’m going to make and which direction I'll go when I head out for my excursions.
These months are when my lifestyle meets its reward.

All the moments of scraping by, collecting pennies in proverbial jars, wondering what will come next and how I'll make it happen, all those moments don't matter while I'm here.

Because to tell the truth, there's no other place in the world I'd rather be right now, for now.

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