beetiger

One of the nice things about the commute to Connecticut is that I get to listen to NPR around seven-thirty or so, during which they often have interesting “public interest” articles. Just before the holiday, they were talking about a large interment area which adjoined a public hospital/sanitorium around the time of World War Two, which may be destroyed during renovations to the New Jersey turnpike. I spent the rest of the drive imagining each car heading to Thanksgiving dinner filling up with the ghosts of displaced immigrant grandparents, like the mirror in the Haunted House ride at Disneyland.

But this morning, they were interviewing people on where they find peace. People said they went to the ocean, the woods, cemeteries. I thought about it, myself, and I realized it’s not really the right question for me. For me, it’s more about recharging. I recharge when I can quiet my mind, and although I can sometimes do that in quiet places, and I love the woods very much, I find that often my mind is busy-busy when I’m out alone. I recharge in bed. Maybe that’s extremely obvious, but the physical feeling of warm covers and the sound of someone I love breathing more slowly than me is one of the few things that really quiets me. Music, also. One of the things that can stop my mind racing is really, truly listening to something complex. I also recharge doing simple physical things: canning salsa, or doing lab work. One of the reasons I’m still frustrated with this new job is that I haven’t had enough of that. It leaves time to think, time to create, or time to just be, whichever I need.

I’ve been told, time and again, that Bard and I have a peaceful, calming presence. My father used to always say that coming to visit us in Ithaca was like a little vacation. And there’s a reason why our home has occasionally been billed “Chez Gargoyle Bed and Breakfast and Wildlife Rehabilitation Center”.

In our world, it's a time of year when the sentiment "Peace on Earth" shows up on cards sent all over the place to loved ones, and yet, a time of war coming, feeling almost inevitable. A conflicted time. And it's winter, and the days are cold and short. Every year, this time of year, I joke that I would hibernate until spring, if I could only release myself from all of my responsibilities. This year, I almost could have done that, with slightly different choices. For some reason, I'm not craving the time to hide right now. Perhaps I'm ready to watch the world's show.