29 April 2010


The sewing machine in the next room sounds like a freight train that has dreams of becoming a fighter jet. There's something oddly calming and pleasant about it, though. He says, each night when I turn in and his face is still illumined by the glow of the machine's little tiny light, "I'll try to keep it down." While that's really nice of him, the fact is that I like to hear a bit of activity in the house when I'm going to bed. Same feeling I had when I was little and could hear the semi trucks out on the nearby highway. I relished knowing that the big world was out there carrying on in all sorts of grand, important ways while I was tucked into our house on a hill, in my very own room, in my old wooden bed, with my bear Foggy, falling fast asleep to the lullaby of their gear-shifting and careful braking. Bananas and two-by-fours being endlessly transported outside, dreams weaving their warm spells inside. Felt right as rain.