The monotony and solitude of a quiet life stimulates the creative mind.
~ Albert Einstein
“I’m done with winter.”
Gerry and I are en route to Vernon for our weekly visit with his mom and it’s snowing. Significantly. I’m playing with the camera on my phone trying, unsuccessfully, to capture an image that reflects my mood—my done-ness.
”Did you say you’re done with winter?” He turns toward me, grinning at the obvious: it’s the beginning of November and we’ve still got a long winter haul ahead of us.
Yes, I’m done. With winter that has arrived far too early, with waking up at 3:00 since Daylight Savings Time rolled back on the weekend, with the pain in my neck and shoulder caused by an uptick in computer time, with the headache I woke up with this morning, with a brain working overtime, and with people. I’m over it all.
I think maybe my done-ness and I should have taken a solitude and silence day but life doesn’t always allow that luxury. Gerry drives on through snow that will seem pretty about six weeks from now, but that today is just irritating, and I open my window and try for another photo. Maya, the wonder dog, sits quietly between us, glancing my way at the sudden cold breeze, but wisely keeping her counsel to herself.
# # #
Hours later we arrive back home, snow still falling, but like dandruff now. I’m relieved that the worst of it bypassed our city today. I head to the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea while Gerry clears a new space in the snow on the lawn for Maya (small dog parents will understand this). I feel myself close to the edge and in need a good strong dose of alone time.
“Oh good, you’re making tea.” Gerry comes in to the kitchen to get a treat for the wonder dog who has successfully initiated the cleared space on the lawn.
“Yes. I’m going to take my tea down to my room and I don’t want to be disturbed for an hour. Or more. Pretend I’m dead.”
My husband, who by now understands life with an introverted writer-type, nods. I suspect he recognized the depth of my done-ness and saw this coming. Pretend I’m dead, or PID as we sometimes say in shorthand, a strategy that started during the years when I was writing my book and still employed regularly.
I take my cup of raspberry mojito green tea and my phone downstairs where I flick on the stove in my woman cave. Maya settles in to her bed in front of the stove as I navigate to the David Phelps playlist on my phone. When you walk through the storm hold your head up high, David reminds me as I settle in at my desk, cup of tea in hand, and look out the large picture window at the white outside.
It’s been an okay day so far. I’m still done, but solitude and writing will help with that. After a good night’s sleep (please, oh please) I should be back on track for another busy day tomorrow. I open my laptop where the wallpaper I created a few weeks ago reminds me of my intention: “whatever you do, find the God-centered, Christ-exalting, Bible-saturated passion of your life, and find your way to say it and live for it and die for it.” (John Piper)
And it is well.