The silence is beautiful.
No one’s home but me. Well, the dog and the two cats, but they’re blissed out; asleep. I could be asleep too. Taking a nap—if I wanted.
Waving good-bye as my husband pulls out of the driveway this morning for a business trip quickly turns into one of those victory dances you see on TV when the kids leave home for college. The house is mine, mine, all mine!
After waiting long enough to be sure he hasn’t forgotten anything and might return, I sprint into his office and flip on all his computer screens. He’d be mortified to see me checking Facebook, my e-mail and my blog simultaneously. And I have other windows open to more blogs, the news, the crossword puzzle. Oh, yeah.
Is it mean to be so happy to have the house to myself? I know for a fact my husband feels the exact same way when I go out of town. When you’ve been married sixteen years and you both work primarily from home, well, the house doesn’t always seem big enough.
Will I miss him? Oh sure, as soon as I run out of the gazpacho he made and the extra burgers and chicken breasts he grilled last night.
Tomorrow morning when I rush to get out the trash before the garbage truck comes down our street, I’ll think of him, wishing he was home. When the dog noses me in the middle of the night to let me know her daddy would take her out, I’ll miss him like crazy.
But, in between those moments, I’ll stretch out alone on the king size bed. Again, mine, all mine. I’ll listen to Christina Aguilera belt out Candyman over and over as loud as I dare without blowing his speakers. (Make sure to check out the Candyman link. It rocks!)
The projects that drive him crazy when I multi-task? Out they’ll come. The dining room table will be covered with piles of papers as I sort and merge all those mini-to-do lists into one biggie. The guest bed will be invisible under heaps of clothes I decide to pitch, donate or save for my future ten pound loss. My jewelry studio will be unrecognizable as I reorganize a stash of gemstones, silver and seed beads.
Humming as I work, I’ll chip away at the disorder. Then, on the day I impatiently await his return, I’ll spring into a frantic rush, and squirrel away what I didn’t finish.
Already tired thinking of these tasks, I wonder. Is this what I want for the next three days? (Besides writing my five pages, of course.)
Today is gorgeous. The heat and humidity have broken; there’s a fresh breeze stirring the branches. I can hear my husband’s voice urging me to get out and move, relish the outdoors.
Could he be right?
Thank you, dear husband. Instead of getting bogged down in the same old mundane, I’m going to savor this interlude.
Right after I take a nap. ~ JD here.