There is a storm brewing here in the Ozarks. If you live in places where scary (especially spring) storms don’t happen, you are blessed and you are cursed. They can be quite serious and frightening on the one hand and beautiful and surreal on the other. Tonight I’m hoping for the latter.
There is a back porch/deck just behind my house that exits from the kitchen area. It is one of my favorite spots. On it I can see bits of sunrise or sunset, and I am also surrounded by trees and flowers--with the help of our Missouri water supply (my apologies to my West Coastians). This little spot overlooks the jungle that is my tiered backyard of which I have written and houses the grill that I heroically assembled.
There are three spots in this house that I alone inhabit: this deck, the former gazebo (which Grace and I lovingly call the “zeeb” now that we whacked off the top off the weird gazebo), and the area that was once an office where I do my best to burn every possible calorie and watch Netflix and Bravo. No one is prohibited from these spots, it’s just that no one enjoys them like I do. In my exercise room, it probably isn’t particularly welcoming that I watch a television that my parents gave me in 1994 that still works like a charm. It is, however, beneath the flatscreen HD generation that I birthed. I should probably mention the laundry room, but Grace has stepped up her game in this area of late, so I hate to rob her of that particular bit of glory.
Tonight the house is eerily quiet, as I am home without the troops. It is a rare evening. So I’m sitting just outside the kitchen, listening to thunder, seeing specks of lightning, and waiting for the rain to begin. And so it is, in fits and starts.
I hate being lonely, but I love being alone. Those two stations in life are remarkably different. Both yesterday and today I was lucky to spend time with friends who make me feel anything but lonely. And the time with them makes alone time well-spent. Maybe Greta Garbo, famous for this sentiment, put it best: “I never said, ‘I want to be alone.’ I only said, ‘I want to be left alone.’ There is all the difference.”
Later tonight my Grace will come back home after watching a horror movie the likes of which would send me to the fetal position. I admire her umph. For now, however, I will get a little spooked by the occasional crack of thunder, listen to the rain, and breathe it all in.
It is always good to breathe.
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