I stood back, martini in one hand, poking at the massive fire spilling out of the chimneia with my makeshift poker, trying to steer bits of old Christmas tree that were now ablaze back into a safe burning area. Bits of what had been green grass underneath were scorched to the dirt. Once I’d smashed the last of the branches into the chamber of the chimneia I downed the rest of my martini and set the glass down on the lawn chair.
“Well,” I said “time to go climb a ladder.”
It was Bachelor Week.
J and the boys are at camp in Philadelphia, and I’ve been on
my own since early Sunday morning. I went to church on Sunday alone, to the
barely concealed disappointment of my congregation. They were all looking forward
to seeing what sorts of mischief Curious George might get into during the
sermon this week, and since it was just boring old me they now had nothing to
do but listen to the boring old pastor, who hardly ever went flying out of the
pews and smashing into the suspended area microphones. Several wished me well. “Enjoy
the peace and quiet!” “Have some good time off this week!”
I HAVE enjoyed the peace and quiet. I picked up all of the
books in the library on Monday and put them on shelves, and not a single one
has returned to the floor since then. I vacuumed the carpet in there, and not a
single LEGO has appeared in the meantime. I’ve come downstairs in the mornings
and have done my morning warm-up on the couch instead of down in the basement,
muted. And I’ve read, endlessly, for hours at a time.
I used the first full day to take care of Unpleasantness
that I didn’t feel it would be fair to the boys to involve them in—I stood in
line at the DMV to get my license renewed, dropped off a donation at Goodwill,
and ran some errands to the post office. (Also, I went in and got a massive
haul of used books, which is probably the most immediate example of returning
to type from my college bachelor days.)
There were some home projects that needed to be taken care
of—reinsulating an HVAC line that had rotted away, and cleaning out the garage—but
mostly the difference between this week and normal life at home has just been
the ability to take care of routine housework, like folding and putting away the
laundry, without a wrestling match spilling over into freshly folded laundry
stacks or the insistence of a small person that they are going to “help”
turning into an emotional crisis.
J’s biggest request for me was simply to remember to eat,
which I have done. I have a ham and eggs for breakfast, and enough veggies and chicken
to make an enormous Greek salad every day. (I’ll be ready for a break from both
for a while once she gets back.) I even walked up to the gas station and
grabbed a frozen pizza, which was disgusting.
With the half-marathon over, I’ve been able to take untimed
and unstructured runs every day, ambling through the woods and around the
neighborhood with no care for a training schedule. I’ve taken apart my espresso
machine, fiddled with it, and put it back together. I’ve practiced and left my
horns lying out of their cases all over the sofa. But it really has been,
mostly, reading. Book 20 of the Odyssey in Greek, bits of the Vulgate in Latin,
some Euthyphro, a book about exploring Machu Picchu, a survey of the ecology of
the Great Lakes, a Stephen Jay Gould book, and a delightful book about philosophy
and kids by Scott Hershovitz.
J will be back in a few more days, and I can’t wait. I keep
on waking up with a start in the middle of the night when I realize she isn’t
in the bed. And the reading binge doesn’t need to stop when she gets back,
because the boys are going to spend a few days with their grandparents. But I
want them to come back too. It’s too quiet. I ordered their school books for
next year (and wrote their instruction plans for the school district…) and as
much as I’m enjoying the break, I’m looking forward to working on more Logic
with James, starting on Latin with Owen, and starting Felix in Kindergarten.
But I’ll still soak up the next few days of having the
library clean.
