Yesterday I did what I haven’t done in months: spent the entire day inside the house. It was chilly outside, but the sun was pouring in our living room, the couch was fluffy with pillows, and ‘The Perfume Lover’ was on the table waiting to be opened. A Norfolk Island Pine gracefully drooped its evergreen fronds to my right, and I could begin to make out the roots of several Narcissus bulbs being forced into growth by the window. I pulled a cozy robe around me and sank into the sofa. French music by Franck played in the background as I turned the pages, lost in this tale of fragrance and perfume by Denyse Beaulieu.
Outside the window, wind tore down the leaves from the maples and dogwoods, while a Japanese umbrella pine swayed in its wake. Branches scratched against the glass panes, but all I felt was the warmth of the sun, and all I heard was the beautiful tickling of a piano. Silk curtains, striped in shades of sky blue and buttercream, framed the bright windows, and I paused in my reading to simply enjoy the space and the moment. It was too pretty to leave and do some holiday shopping at the mall, so I stayed there, alternately reading and snoozing in the sun, basking in the lazy Saturday like a cat. Andy came out and made a cup of green tea, setting it on the table in front of me beside a pile of books on art, and my own Tour Book.
In a world that seems to grow ever dimmer by the day, this is what I need to do. Light a candle, settle into the quiet, and turn out the rest of the chaos. It will be a winter of meditation, of stillness and silence in as many places as I can find and conjure them. It will be a time to shut off the television and radio and computer and cel phone. It will be a time to remember what we can control, what we can fix, what we can do, and what we cannot. Mostly, I hope it will be a time to heal.
We’ve all been battered a bit.