Wednesday, December 13, 2017

I’ve  begun to realize that you can listen to silence and learn from it. It has a quality and a dimension all its own.

~ Chaim Potok, The Chosen

We’ve been out for hours running errands, shopping, and having lunch out—all good and necessary mid-December activities. At quarter to one I drop Gerry off for his appointment at the vascular improvement clinic, then head out to do a bit of solitary shopping—the kind that must be done without a husband in tow. The stores are busy; the streets are busy.

In short order it ceases to be fun and, with my mission accomplished, I head back to the Tournament Capital Center to wait for my husband. I pull into a space at the top of the parking lot. I consider going inside to wait, then change my mind and choose a better thing. I switch off the satellite radio that’s morphed from music to noise somewhere along the way, close my eyes, and allow stillness and silence to do its work.

Oh, the sweet comfort of silence.

I sit for about a half hour in the quiet watching the odd person come and go, but mostly just refueling. In time, sufficiently restored, I switch on Vince Guaraldi’s Charlie Brown Christmas album and the simple music—festive, but not overpowering—eases me back into the world.

Gerry’s late from his appointment but it’s good; it has allowed me time to regain my equilibrium. Eventually he calls to tell me he’s ready and I drive down to the drop off area where he’s waiting for me. I hop out of the car as he’s tossing his bag in the back seat.

“You can drive. I’m done with all of the traffic.”

As he pulls out onto the road and begins to tell me about his appointment I’m thankful—for the time spent out together in morning, for the clinic and the medical intervention a few months ago, for the pocket of silence, and even for the couple of stops we still have to make before we head for the sanctuary of home.

We are blessed.

# # #

Simple happy.

Sweet, sweet silence.

An expected but unexpected delivery.

Mandarin oranges.

A bread recipe that allows me to mix it up in the morning, form it into a loaf she we get home, and bake it for a late and simple supper

Holding hands.

Word wrangler. Photo taker. I'm here early every morning with one of my photos and a few simple words. | Nulla dies sine linea: not a day without a line. | Soli Deo gloria: to the glory of God alone.
1 comment
  1. Lovely, Linda. I too need to take a break from noise and ease into music – or silence!

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