You’re not going to get all the beautiful mornings. Not to the extent that you desire. This one—the best one yet, July 3rd, 2022—is gorgeous. Smooth lake. Warm sunrise. Cool air. Dewy grass shimmering in the light.
Time to kayak, paddleboard, fish. A slow morning cruise around the shoreline and islands. But no, not today. I’m inside with the noisy refrigerator that I’m sure has both comforted and disturbed sleepers and dreamers over years to me that are unknown. After all, we own this place now, but it belonged to other lives for decades. We’re still getting used to the place. It’s our first summer. But it feels like we’ve been here before. Another glitch in the Matrix, perhaps.
Now that I’ve started writing and accepted my morning fate, I’m indifferent. This one’s going to shape up and deliver whatever it chooses. I’ll sit and wait and see. Frustration started brewing as the Keurig filled my coffee cup, but now that feeling is gone, subdued, sunk away to wherever feelings we don’t want to feel go. Astro, the shrimpy Husky cannot be without me for long. This morning, not at all. So, I am anchored to the shore, always within sight. I don’t need to interact with him, though I do, throwing the yellow tennis ball, talking to him, giving him good boys and scratching his chest. He just needs me near. I am his therapy human.
The woman next door isn’t tied to the land, her cottage. She returned from kayaking 20 minutes ago while I threw a lure into the water. Twice. I had to return from the dock after my second cast because Astro was anxious and whining. Bouncing at the end of his leash. I didn’t want him to wake anyone, so I got him into the cottage. Spindle, the Beagle-Pug-Bulldog mix, told me she had to go to the bathroom. While she was out, I filled the coffee maker with water—a slow process because we’re using water from the outside world, a big jug that obviously realizes how precious water is and is reluctant to release it. It took two minutes to fill the Keurig and another minute to fill my water bottle. By the time the coffee was ready, Spindle was barking. The woman next door was now on the dock, stretching, doing push-ups—yoga. She was getting hers. The morning. The beauty.
Or maybe not. She’s not running in and out after dogs. Not waiting for her wife and kids to wake. She is alone, at least for now. And we all deal with that in our own way. Maybe her family is coming later and they are bringing the dogs. Her silence, the quiet world that’s wide open for the taking, or to take her, may disappear.
The old refrigerator has stopped buzzing, clicking, whirring. Spindle made her way into my daughter’s room after I scolded her for talking to the lady next door. So loudly. So early. But she’s snuggled up now. Making sure my kid gets a few more hours of sleep. Astro is on the blue leather couch looking out the big window at the still, bright day that’s unwrapping itself. His ears are up, at attention. Waiting for my next move.