On the first morning after a carefree holiday break, when getting dressed out of pajamas is no longer an option, I realize my resistance about returning to life as a responsible adult isn’t about lack of motivation or dread about work. The heaviness about resuming predictable schedules comes from a lack of rhythms.
Stumbling down narrow, winding steps toward the kitchen, wood creaks under bare feet, cracking open the stillness hovering over all three floors of the house. Reaching the bottom floor, light spills from a lamp on the desk in the kitchen, preset to turn on before the sun rises.
Anchoring fingers around the black knob on the lid of the tea kettle, I pry it loose and water glugs from a glass bottle, filling the empty metal cavern. The tinny crescendo of heat on metal transforms what is cold into a warm, bubbly welcome.
A red teapot warms under a cozy steeping with Red Rose tea bags, a Christmas gift from my Canadian mother-in-law.
Dipping a knife into a jar of Hellman’s, I spread a glob of mayo on two pieces of whole wheat toast, layer bacon, slices of cheddar and then cut the sandwich in two pieces. Breakfast for my son stays inside the microwave until I hear the stairs creak again with his footsteps descending; a cue he is showered, wearing his school uniform and ready to fill an empty stomach.
From a cozy chair in the corner of the dining room with a blanket over my lap, I stare out the window as time ticks, birds trill, and ivy flutters on the wall with a gust of wind.
I haven’t practiced listening to the silence since decorating the Christmas tree and filling our guest rooms.
While resolutions for a new year with a clean slate of endless possibilities sound alluring, a rhythm of silence is the rudder keeping thoughts and intentions on course.
Join me at Grace Table for the rest of the story. I’m saving a chair at the table for you!