Wednesday, February 15, 2012

The heart, at least I think that's what it was, speaks



This morning I awoke to the sounds of some unidentifiable piano concerto on VPR's classical station. (Who am I kidding. They are all unidentifiable.)

It was not unpleasant. Sometimes piano concertos are.

No. It was beautiful.

The soft plinking notes pressed the residual overnight gloom right out of the room and I realized two things: I was alone-- Isla had had a good, wander-free night. And, I felt completely at ease, a' l'aise, in my skin and in my home. My bed was soft in all the right places and firm in all the right places and warm all over. And my heart was soft in all the right places, and firm in all the right places and warm all over.

I raised my thick head off the pillow to glance at the clock. 6:10. I pushed my head back into the pliant warmth and dozed some more.

I got up to pee and stood in front of the double windows that face out to the barn. It was just before sunrise when the whole world, even the air, is soft-edged. Submissive.

The mountains, the trees, the air, the sky, the barn, the sleeping horses. It all looked, and felt, so welcome and familiar. So permanent. Unmovable.

I had a flashback of looking out our back window in France in the dark winter mornings. I felt nothing of that loneliness, that desolate sense of homesickness, I often felt upon waking up there.

"That's because this is my home," I heard my voice cutting into my reverie to say, as I continued on towards the bathroom, "and France was not."

I had spoken out loud. Or someone had.


10 comments:

Was Living Down Under said...

Beautifully written Betsy.

Anne said...

I'm so happy your inner fog seems to be dissipating.

Lauren A. said...

"Or someone had."

I've had those moments- flashes from a deeper self i keep locked beneath the veneer of worry and overthinking. I bet she has better hair too...

Sue Kol said...

Beautiful

Liz said...

Oh good grief woman -- everytime your blog appears in my reader with a new post I think to myself, "Oh how wonderful, this is the post where she tells us her husband is coming home!". Then, it's not THAT post, but it's still beautifully written and hangs with me and I'm reminded to continue to pray for you and your family.

Lauren A. said...

You're not faking peace just so your readers stop worrying about you so much, are you? Haha!

Betsy said...

Ha ha. Lauren A, you are a funny woman. I am not "faking peace," as you say. But that would be a really good idea...
I'll remember that.

Sue Kol said...

This blog stayed with me all day yesterday. I was born and raised in India until I was 21 yrs old , then I came to Illinois for studies, lived there for two years, and then I followed my boyfriend to California. I stepped off the plane in San Jose, and I heard this voice.. 'Aaah Home altlast!' And so it's been for the last 18 years.

Betsy said...

Sue Kol: Cool. Home, and sense of place, is an interesting concept. And it's funny how are hearts and minds decide what is, and isn't home.

Emma said...

I felt like you were really speaking to me in tbis entry- i know exactly what you mean by "or someone had"- when the truth about something suddenly seems to bubble up and is (finally) spoken aloud, as though it has come straight from your deep subconcious. Like your mind has thrown up its hands and muttered, "For God's sake woman! Duh!!"