When the World is so Lovable
July 2, 2014 § Leave a comment
I’m sitting on my couch in the living room. The windows are open and there’s a steady summer breeze making its way into my living space. I’m trying to figure out what to do with my next hour from my to-do list. It’s never been my strong suit. Choosing, that is. There’s a direct correlation between my inability to make decisions and the amount of choices I have in front of me (isn’t that true for everyone?). Putting off decision land for a second, I look out my window. Simultaneously, I hear the garbage truck barreling down the street towards our house and see the three year old boy across the street run down his driveway screaming with glee. It takes me a second, but I quickly understand he is downright Christmas-morning-giddy to see the garbage truck pick up the trash. And bless that garbage truck driver’s heart, he gives that boy a little honk as he pulls away.
We live on the second floor of a duplex, which is conducive to watching these little neighborhood scenes play out. In the kitchen it means that while I’m whisking eggs I can see the price of gas at the gas station down the street (it’s $3.70/gallon right now). There’s also a cemetery in my panorama which is beautiful but also kind of a downer. But it’s up on this second floor where I feel safe. A combination of watching too many 48 Hours Mysteries, a frightening robbery in Peru while we were staying at my sister’s house, and a dark imagination, has instilled in me a deep-seeded distrust for windows’ and doors’ ability to keep crazies out.
My kitchen is full of windows. It faces Southeast and lights up brilliantly on mornings when the sun is present. It’s those days, music blasting and my hands mixing ingredients together in that kitchen, that the world is so lovable. When windows are those things that let the sun show off and the summer breezes in, and doors are the things that bring friends and family home to eat around the table, (and garbage trucks honk at their adoring fans).