Sunday, February 10, 2013 12:25 pm
My backyard is a hazardous place to be, right now.
Suddenly warm weather yields chunks of ice slipping away from one another and tumbling from the patio roof under which I am sitting. I imagine what it would feel like to get clocked in the head by a large chunk of ice, and scoot my chair back on the deck just a bit to steer clear of any hazardous natural substances.
My roommate is mopping the floors in the dining and living rooms of our two-story house, which need a good cleaning after the Mardi Gras party we threw last night. (There goes another chunk of ice off the roof, as I am writing, by the way.) The chemicals in the cleaning solution irritate my asthma quite a bit, so I am hiding out here in my backyard, thinking about how the outdoors always seem to provide me with the solace I need, right when I need it most--as long as I make the time for it to enter my life.
I'm a little worse for wear today after last night's festivities, but the quiet of my backyard on a Sunday really seems to slow down mind and body. This is just what I need, right now.
Lately, it seems that the people in my life have been adding lots of things to my "to do" list. This week alone, I needed to attend three extra work trainings in addition to my classes, my teaching on campus, and my regular work hours off-campus. One of these trainings was excellent, but it was held all day Saturday--my usual day of resting or liberating adventures in and around Pittsburgh. Saturdays are my "mental health" day, most often--but not this week. So I am making up for it now, I guess--this excursion to the silence of my backyard (interruption here--pop! crack! goes the ice off the roof) is especially soul-soothing at this moment in time.
I close my eyes, and feel the sun heating my arms and face, as I haven't been able to do in a while. Temperatures in the teens and 20's have mandated that I bundle myself like an Eskimo, just to make it back and forth to the bus stop. My array of scarves, hats, and gloves is vast nowadays. But today it feels as though the temperatures are in the 60's, and my pajamas and a thick pair of socks are cover enough.
"Summertime" plays in the house behind me while my roommate cleans the floor. There is something powerful, it seems to me, in feeling the sun directly on one's skin, or even through a single layer of everyday clothing--a kind of osmosis happens, in which one absorbs the clean, pure energy of this source of light and life into one's pores. If nature herself has a hard time making it through the coats and scarves and hoods into which we thrust our chilled parts each winter's day, then that first warm day in weeks feels all the more nourishing for this recent lack. The comforts of the best sunny days from childhood and adolescence come rushing back to mind the way a bear, awakening from a long winter nap, stretches, looks around, and recalls suddenly the pangs of hunger in all their ferocity. It remembers its own body, as do we, when sunshine makes contact with our skin after a long absence. And like the bear, we recall our own strange liberty, reclaiming our power to live as we wish after a long absence--the void of doing only what we must. We once again find in our world the joy and freedom of unrestricted movement.
We always require music to clean by, my roommate and I, to help us stay motivated the day after a party's mess has exploded in our home. I can still hear the muted sounds of nearby traffic, and the strains of Ella and Louis singing from my kitchen . A bird's sharp cry punctuates the stillness of the non-human world around me. As the sun fades a bit, and a chill starts to take hold of me, I feel especially lucky that this space is always here to hold me apart--for just a while--from my anxieties and discomforts.
"The comforts of the best sunny days from childhood and adolescence come rushing back to mind the way a bear, awakening from a long winter nap, stretches, looks around, and recalls suddenly the pangs of hunger in all their ferocity." What a great metaphor to describe the power of recollection. I enjoyed how this piece began with the idea of danger and discomfort--avoiding the ice chunks that were falling from your roof and recovering from the party--and also your pressing obligations and then moved into an appreciation for these few moments in the sun. I feel as you do about writing from my specific spot and you describe its importance so well: "this space is always here to hold me apart--for just a while--from my anxieties and discomforts." These minutes outside writing have been the best kind of forced meditation and a great time to reflect. I was able to sit with the sun on my face also this week and I was so appreciative of having these few moments to close my eyes in the sun. Great job.
ReplyDeleteBrigette, I know how you feel about the sun, and I love how you describe it as a kind of osmosis. I definitely miss the sun these days and wish it could come out more often. You have some really great descriptions and observations with the ice popping and cracking above you while trying to find solace in the solitude.
ReplyDeleteIt's interesting how your backyard is becoming a form of refuge and "mental health" in itself. There are moments when the subtle details (osmosis of sun) come alive in your writing.
ReplyDeleteYou've perfectly described how therapeutic sunshine feels when the winter begins to break. Perhaps this sensation is made all the more powerful by our bodies having forgotten, through the winter months, that feeling.
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