The weather today is dark and rainy. I have no inclination to leave the house. I am not even getting dressed. Today is a sloth day. I ordered a grocery delivery. The larder is nearly empty. I did break away from my Snickers. Today I eat Butterfingers. 

My street has no lights. Some of the houses are seasonal so they stay dark. When I was in high school, I sometimes walked home at night. I was never afraid. I didn’t think there was anything to fear. I remember the street lights left a round circle of light on the road. I remember how quiet it was. I could see TV’s in peoples’ living rooms. I seldom saw other people. Only an occasional car broke the silence. I loved those walks. I loved the quiet. 

My street is short. My street is quiet. There are eight houses. The ones on either side of me are empty. One is a rental, the other a seasonal rental. Henry keeps an eye on those and on any traffic. He alerts me. Sometimes I’m thankful for that loud, constant barking while other times I wish I could mute him. I almost bought a mute the barking dog collar, but Henry, with his phobias, would be afraid and would avoid me. He holds grudges.

In Ghana, in my day, the nights were quiet. I remember walking back to the hostel in Accra after dinner. I remember passing small groups of men sitting on the sidewalks in the slanted wooden chairs I hated. You had to lean back to sit on them. The men always wished me a good evening when I passed by them. I returned the greeting. I was never afraid then either. 

I think my house is quiet then I listen. I can hear blasts of hot air from the furnace. When the dogs walk in the hall, their nails tap the floor. Jack, not a small boy, thuds when he jumps down from the bed in his room upstairs. I can hear it down here. Jack is a meower, a loud meower. He never meows only once. He carries on a whole conversation. 

During the late night, I am usually the only one awake in my neighborhood. All the other houses are dark. During the summer I sit outside on my deck in the quiet. Lately I have been awake until the wee hours. I love that time. It always feels like I own the world. I could be the star of a science fiction movie, minus the usual zombies, walking dead and veracious animals hunting prey. 

In Ghana, I had my own chickens, hens mostly. I’m thinking it may be time for them again, a few chickens, a few eggs every morning. 

My dance card is yellowed. It is like one of those pieces of ephemerae. Okay, I am probably showing off here by writing the Latin first declension plural of ephemera, but I had four years of high school Latin and seldom get a chance to show off. Anyway, I have no reason to leave the house until Tuesday, no reason to get dressed until then. Mind you, I am not complaining. I am merely living the sloth life.

This entry was posted on January 31, 2025 at 2:03 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.