My little companion, Lance, enjoys sitting in the window while we linger with coffee and papers in the morning. We read and talk and watch our birds and play with the cats. We watch the leaves turn, and fall; watch buds swell in the spring and leaves burst forth and unfold. Lance is there, too.
See the purple mug? That's my Grandma's Morning Fix mug. My son made it 6 or 8 years ago for his Grandma who had come here to live after Grandpa died. We used to joke about her coffee being her morning "fix." So, for a Christmas gift, he and his wife went to one of those places where you paint your own pottery.
After Mom went to live in an assisted living facility, the mug was left behind. I would look at it, but just couldn't bring myself to use it, even though I do love purple! It wasn't because it was Mom's mug; it was the grandma thing. I wasn't a grandma and didn't have any on the way. Because that is all changed now, and because my first grandchild will be born in February, I think that using the mug is OK. I like it.
Sometimes I bring my knitting in here and enjoy the quiet; this spot has been established as a place of peace. No TV noise in here. Rarely I take a phone call here, but mostly not. But the kitties are drawn to the places we put ourselves, and so knitting is often displaced by lap sitters who purr so enthusiastically, I can only set the knitting aside. It is a perfect spot to make headway on a good book, and it is perfect for wine and cheese and olives in the evenings. We love talking over our day with one another here
I played with this picture of Lance's face; sharpened it and over exposed it a little. He sits, usually, with all his feet quite close to one another; he is what I call composed. Often looks like a statue. The flash went off with the picture of his feet, and he wasn't pleased with that so he jumped down and left the room.
Time here is well spent. If this window seat had been available twenty years ago, it would have been empty. I never seemed to be able to take this sort of time for myself when I had children at home. I didn't know how, would have felt guilty about it. Didn't take much time to play with the kitties or the kids. Always felt I had to be going, going, going. Going and doing was easier on me than guilt about not going would have been. Of course, I didn't ponder much or dream back then either; after all, I was living my dreams of being a wife and mother. What more could I want?
Time's passage, experiences accumulated, children grown and gone; these all change a person. One looks at life from the other side at my age. The clutter can pile up in my knitting room, cookbooks can gather off their shelves on kitchen counters, autumn leaves may obscure the lawn for days, and I don't care. I am drawn to the quiet times, to the peace, to joyfulness. I am happy to exchange a vacuum for a string and make a little run through the house, kitties bounding behind. I have found books again and sit with a delicious feeling of having stolen time just for myself. If I put the book down to watch the birds a while, there is no guilt for having stopped reading; industry is not all there is to a good life.
Soon I will be adding grandmotherly activities to this list of life's joys. I know I will be ready; I will show this child the birds and leaves and chippies; we will play with the kitties; we will read all sorts of stories and maybe tell a few, too; we will think and explore and ponder and wonder and dream....