Red's Wrap
Happiness. It's relative.
Wishful Thinking
Nothing.
I could do a lot more of nothing. I could let myself flop in a chair and complain about it being hot and having nothing to do and listen to my mother tell me that if I was bored, it was my own fault, as were many other things, the lawn not being mowed for one.
Because it was hot and there was nothing to do, I would wheel my blue bike out of the garage and sometimes give it another coat of blue from last year’s spray can. And other times, I’d get on my bike and pedal down the dirt road next to our house to where the road turned in and there was a path to a little cave next to a stream. it was cool there and sweet.
I could think about winter, about skating on the little pond that froze up, and I could pretend to be in the Olympics. I never knew anyone else who skated by themselves, who walked down that same road with skates over one shoulder. I’m not sure why I was always doing things by myself. It never made me sad, though. I liked the places I went. I liked doing nothing.
Right now, I could do more of that. Nothing. Having something bubble up from the nothing. Letting that happen. That would precious.
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Snow Door | wisconsinacademy.org
Listen to Jan read her essay “Billy” presented on WUWM’s Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “At the Breakfast Bar” on WUWM Lake Effect
Jan’s essay “The Parish Hall,” on WUWM Lake Effect
“Fury Cannot Touch Me,” Modern Love, NYT, 9/29/11
I remember that growing up, saying there was “nothing to do” was the most unwise thing I could say because there was always something I wound up doing that I would much rather NOT have done. Now, I am too restless to enjoy doing nothing. But nothing is indeed the bubbling time for ideas.
Tomorrow Garry gets to pick out his new equipment and accessories. Finally. This has been a painful month as he has had to struggle with just one aid in one ear. And now we are at the other end.
YES. Good Stuff always bubbles up, but doing nothing is first. Thanks for the reminder…
I am having a nothing day- simply watching one lone finch sit at the feeder under the eaves and eat while the rain comes down in buckets just inches away.