Sunlight on Skin

For all of my working life, my morning routine was guided by getting ready to go somewhere. At first, that involved getting myself and three children out the door every morning, then later, just myself. For most of that time, I had to dress according to someone else's standards of professional attire for women, which always included pantyhose or stockings. Do you know what I especially don't miss in these days of retirement and pandemic? Those stupid pantyhose. 

My routine changed a bit after the kids were grown, and when I was going to the gym or swimming in the morning before work, but I still had to choose the work outfit before leaving the house for the day. I would leave the house in sweats or swimsuit, but within a couple of hours would be dressed in "real clothes." Except for my last five years of work, which was in a union office with a boss who was an actual human being, I was never comfortable in that particular skin. I felt like I was playing dress-up to conform to the expectations of a society I did not want to belong to. 

It has been two years since I retired. My closet contents have changed considerably in that time; my morning routine considerably more by virtue of the fact that I no longer have a routine when it comes to dressing and doing my hair. I have the freedom to do whatever pleases me, in whatever order it pleases me. I don't take that freedom for granted. 

My days have sometimes gone a bit wonky during this time of pandemic isolation. I know many people who make jokes about staying in their pajamas or sweats or underwear all day, days on end. If I engaged in that behavior, it would be a red-flag level of depression. Most days, I get dressed in clean, comfortable clothes. If I'm working outside, sometimes I change two or three times a day. But there are random days when I choose to spend the day in sweats or warm, comfy pajamas. I think that is a good, healthy self-care choice. 

Then there are days like today when I slept through my alarm, so I rushed outside to let the chickens out after pulling my coat on over my sleeveless, t-shirt nightgown and slipping my bare feet into my wellies. It was only 34 degrees outside, and I thought I would just hurry out then hurry back in. But the instant I stepped into the sun, I knew I wanted and needed more time outside. I just wasn't ready to get dressed. After tending the chicks, I followed the sun around to the South yard, where I sat on the east-facing porch of Rhodes' workshop. 

Sitting in direct sunlight, I took my coat and wellies off. Sun on as much bare skin as possible without being naked, bare feet in the dew-soaked grass, I was warm and comfortable and content. My monkey mind tried to tell me that I needed to get busy, to get dressed, and start my daily chores and writing, but I made a deliberate choice to turn that voice off. I gave myself the gift of 10 minutes of intentionally listening to birdsong, visually exploring the different shades of blue that filled the sky, noticing how the sun felt on my skin, and truly, madly, deeply feeling the connection between my feet and the earth beneath me. 

I've carried the joy inspired by those 10 minutes through this entire day. More and more, I realize that the seemingly endless horizon of time in these days of isolation is not a gift. That the pockets of intentional, focused, unplugged, wilding time are one of the real treasures to be found in these difficult days. And by making sweet use of them, I am shedding more expectations than I ever thought it was possible to carry. 

The Third Room

 In 2019 when Rhodes and I began the process of looking for a home, we developed a habit of wandering through each home independent of each other before walking through together. Each of us would sketch a quick layout of the house as we went through so we could refer to it later when talking about the potential use of space. To be clear: we made those drawings on our own, separate from each other, without any input. 

We fell in love with the Cottage the first time we saw it. We each recognized all the potential this little home had and knew that it just needed some TLC. We were thrilled that in addition to the in-law space on the north side of the house, there were enough rooms on the south side for a living room, study, art or meditation room, and guest room, besides a generously sized bedroom. 

We compared our drawings after we got home that night and talked about the space for hours. We knew we wanted this magical house to become our home. 

There's a copy of my drawing attached here. You can see the three rooms down the hall from the living room. The drawing Rhodes made looked much the same as this one, just more technically correct. And neater. And it showed windows and doors. You get the picture, yes? 

We went back for an open house the next day. Still delighted by everything. 

Then two days later, we went back with our realtor. Again, we wandered through on our own, then met up in the living room, both with drawings in hand and puzzled looks on our faces. The third room, the one labeled "Art Room" in my drawing, was gone. Vanished without a trace. We compared our drawings, compared our mental notes from the previous walkthroughs, and we both clearly remembered the third room. We also clearly remembered the three doors on that side of the hallway - one for the closet, the weird door with the pet door in it, and the Third Room door. The door into what we thought would be the guest room faces directly onto the hallway, not off to the side like the others. 

We haven't seen the room since our second visit to the house. We each saw it separately, drew it in our layout sketches, and remembered it quite clearly. 

Almost two years later now, and we still talk about the Third Room. Items that go missing in the Cottage are probably in the Third Room. When the cats act weird, they've been in the Third Room or smell something in there. Sometimes I can hear people talking or hear an oldies radio station, and I'm pretty sure that's where they are. 

Most of the mysteries at the Cottage are outside, in the gardens, and on the grounds. There are a few of them indoors, too, but none quite as big and daring as the disappearance of an entire room. 

It should be a creepy thing, but it isn't. It just feels like the Cottage has a secret, and wanted us to know it had this secret but now doesn't want to share. I sometimes wonder who lives in that space, or if it is some kind of traveler's rest space and different beings come and go.