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Sometimes, things are boring. People will often say this like it’s a bad thing, but I think the world needs more boring. If boring shows up outside my door with a loaf of white bread that’s not even sliced, I am going to invite her in for a cup of black Lipton tea. And we will chat about the weather. Boring will be a most-welcomed guest.
But today I am not going to talk about boring outside my door. I’m not even going to talk about doors. Today, I am going to talk about windows. Hold on to your hat, friend, it’s gonna get wild. Or not. I actually think boring is close by.
I don’t wake up to an alarm. Not the kind you want to throw against the wall with its annoying BEEP BEEP BEEP, anyway. I usually wake up to a calico purring on my chest and/or by a feline of the tuxedo variety meowing his furry little head off to be fed breakfast. But not this morning. No, this morning I woke up to the sound of what I thought were two people just outside my bedroom window arguing about their dad bringing the person he’s having an affair with to their family getaway. Turns out it was just a podcast episode that began to play after my thunderstorm sleep sounds. And that’s it, I’m up for the day.
I got to spend last week with my dad in Houston. The flight there was packed like we were tiny little sardines. It would have cost extra to get a window seat, so I was the sucker sitting close to the aisle; the one who had to get up when the person next to me needed to go to the bathroom right as I was falling asleep. I looked at the person sitting by the window, no one to bother their sweet slumber.
Windows are funny things. We sometimes open them to let fresh air in. Other times, we open them to let the stale air out. Is there a little air traffic control person sitting on the windowsill directing air to go in or to go out? Otherwise, how does it know?
We also talk about windows that aren’t actually even windows, but everyone knows these imaginary windows are somehow windows. You know what I mean, right? I got an avocado last week and it went bad. I missed the guacamole window. Or how I just took a sip of my hot tea and now it’s cold. Actually, it’s lukewarm. I’ll drink it even though I missed the hot window. Also, who on earth is Luke?
Every so often, I get a piece of mail that has a little window on the envelope, just big enough to see it clearly addressed to me. Those are windows I never want to open because 9 times out of 10, an envelope with a window means there is a bill inside. And outside that open window my hard-earned money will fly.
Then there are soul windows aka our eyes. “You can look into her eyes and see her soul,” someone will say poetically. If you look into my mine, you’ll likely see a tiny exhausted hamster running on a wheel, simply trying to keep up with life.
Boring is still standing outside the door with that loaf of bread, looking into my eyes, too. Seeing the tuckered-out rodent, she asks, “Ready for me to visit now?”
I can obsess about windows of time that were too small. The ones that I didn’t fully appreciate like my son’s early childhood. Or MY childhood, for that matter. Sometimes there is a lot of regret looking at those tiny, closed windows.
And so I realize I am feeling the pain of missing that time. Is that why they call it a window pane? Do I need to spend time washing and cleaning them, maybe through therapy? It is finally clear to me now that when hiring a housekeeper most of them will loudly and proudly say, “Sorry, I don’t do windows.”
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Love your visuals and creative takes on the ordinary in life!
I mourn those lost windows too