Rip Van Winkle…

I slept in yesterday morning which is extremely odd for me. I awoke startled at 10 AM and my apartment was brightly alit and I looked at my bedside alarm clock abruptly. “Shit,” I muttered. I felt like I had slept most of my day away. The daylight hours of these short winter days are so precious to me. I hate to waste them sleeping.

I spent much of the day yesterday cleaning house, mopping floors, dusting, doing laundry, changing sheets and comforters, and the various mundane tasks of life that must be done on a regular basis to keep things in order and tidy. I felt quite satisfied with what I got accomplished. I thought Annabel would be proud of me. I kind of have to go with the flow when I get on these cleaning sprees. I am the proverbial bachelor much of the time and not the most domesticated of animals when it comes to dusting and such.

I then went for a three mile hike after cooking breakfast for lunch. It was a glorious spring-like day and I was lamenting the fact that I had left my camera at home. The birds were calling as if it was late April and the smell of many blooms of flowers and shrubs was upon the air. I breathed in deep the aromas so reminiscent of the upcoming spring season and reveled in this Indian summer we are having. Our recent weather has gone a long way in lifting my spirits lately and the doldrums of winter have subsided. The cold holidays were a murky, dark point in my life and I am glad to have them behind me.

Yesterday evening found me at another AA meeting. We discussed how we, as alcoholics, must be explicitly honest with ourselves foremost and then honest with others secondly. I am amazed at how fast that hour can go by. I was lonely for company last night and most of the anxiety of the previous night had subsided. There was one brief moment of terror when the chairperson started going around the room and calling on members to speak. Luckily he passed me by. I don’t think he could remember my name.

I came home, fixed two grilled cheese sandwiches, drank an ice cold glass of milk, and settled down for an enjoyable evening of smoking my pipe and listening to old time radio. I found a radio station on the internet that plays the classics from the 1940’s and 1950’s every night at 9 PM. Last night, we had an hour of old detective serials from the early 1950’s. I sat reclined in my lazy boy as that wonderful, chalky white smoke from my pipe curled around my face as I took careful pulls from it. It is these quiet, reflective moments that I call down time that can mean the most to me after a busy day. I awoke around midnight after falling asleep and the radio had long silenced. I ambled on towards the bed to find Maggie waiting on me. The rest was history as they say.