Sit Down

Getting used to things can be a real blessing. This morning when the house was very quiet with my husband at work and my son at his friends' house, with the sun already bright under a bright blue sky, I went into our greenhouse and checked on the sunflower seedlings Michael had going that were getting stronger and taller in their little seedpods. I grew up with a greenhouse as a child, and always loved the musty warm smell of them, the muted light, the abundance of green, the muffled sounds bouncing off the glass walls. The peace wrapped itself around me like a soft blanket. The dog stuck her ebony muzzle in the door, wondering what I was doing, as the cat snoozed happily in the crisp sunlight on the deck next to the greenhouse. Somehow my relaxed solitary feeling made the transition to the 1946 Billie Holiday song, " Good Morning Heartache ", a profoundly sad song about the loneliness and pain of a broken heart. The lyrics are amazingly effective at conveying the sorrow the singer feels and expresses so profoundly uniquely. She actually invites her heartache at the end of the song to just sit down, giving very graphic imagery of how sorrow sticks to us like an unwelcome and persistent companion. I felt a brief tinge of that hurt, standing alone in the greenhouse on a Monday morning but instead of rejecting the jarring sensation, I swallowed it like you would a pill you know you cannot avoid taking if you want to get better. The effect was immediate. I felt free, relaxed, grateful for my two four footed companions, who were sweet and kind. Our dog relished my company, while the kitty was a great teacher at the joys of solitude, as I watched him sigh contentedly on his blanket in the morning sun. Sit down. I was telling my solitude to just hang out with me, and somehow that made a difference. You can't always get what you want, right? But who says that what you want is what will help you grow, help you be a better, kinder, stronger person? I will just walk through that wall of solitude and hopefully get to the other side of it more mellow, wiser, and with my sense of humour intact. I will certainly give it my best, each and every day, grateful for the mystery of my life as it continues to unfold, slowly, deliberately, beyond the lines whose contours are often elusive and vague. My writing and tapestry were calling, adding a measure of meaning to my steps as I walked back to the house.