In Times Like These

I am addicted to the sound of the keyboard. The clickclickclick feels cathartic. I want to hear it. I need to hear it. I find myself typing and typing faster and faster pushing the limits of my skill just to hear the pattern of sound my thoughts make as they are transferred through the keyboard.

And I have nothing to write, really, just random thoughts about random things.

We just returned from dinner at our neighbors. Lamb soup. I did not eat it. I tried, but pictures of the lambs I once raised kept leaping into my mind. I ate salad and hummus and bread and goat cheese.

We laughed as we shared the meal with our neighbor's housemate, Abdullah who is learning English, but as our neighbor says, "Has yet to put a whole sentence together."

Still, we understood each other. He was cold. It is not this cold in Saudi Arabia. There is no ice. He waited 30 minutes at the bus stop. He was cold.

He ate the radishes on the plate with a fork. They rolled around while he politely tried to stab them. I laughed and pantomimed the radish ricocheting around the room. He laughed.

I had today off. No school because of the ice and snow though there was more ice than snow. I was thankful for the day and I'm trying hard not to long for another tomorrow. At noon I took a nap and slept deeply. Now I feel rested, but still one more day would feel healing.

I have made a resolution. I will no longer complain. Well, I will try to stop complaining so much. I am alive and I must live this life. Each day. Each day until I am no longer a teacher. And then, each day again without complaint.

I read Bookworm's blog and I cried. Ann wanted to read it so I read it again over her shoulder and I cried again. Bookworm, there is such beauty in your pain. I feel wrong to say it, but your voice is so strong, your words are so exactly what they should be. I wish to have such wisdom at such a time.

Instead, I just want to hear the sound of the keys under my fingers tapping out something. Even if it isn't beautiful, I want the sound to soothe me.

I am saddest when I think of what is left behind. Yes, Fossil Guy is gone and there is a hole in the universe, but it is the ripples that make me cry. My parents. Bookworm. The children. The grandchildren. All the friends, the mountains of friends. All ripples and I know not how to offer comfort or sympathy and I feel arrogant in thinking that my offer is of any use.

Rubin has come into the study and laid his head on the carpet with a big sigh. He liked today. Snow. Staying home. Playing with his dog friends from up the street. The long walks.

Tonight, while we went to our neighbor's house for dinner, we left his kennel door open as a test. Will he feel comfortable moving about the house when we aren't here? Eventually we want to be able to just leave him in the house, no longer using the kennel. When we came home 2 hours later and he was still in his kennel, the door open, and he waited for our "okay" before he came out.

His kennel is a comfort. The sound of the keyboard appears to be mine.

I guess we each find what we need in times like these.