Hello Readers!
I’m writing to you after a fun weekend of visiting Ethan in DC and before an upcoming parents’ weekend with Sophie in Clemson. Visiting our college/adult kids has become one of my favorite parts of this stage of life. There are so many interesting, historic, and artistic experiences to be had in their chosen cities NYC, DC, and Clemson. And, of course, my favorite people are there waiting to show them to me!
Every time we return home, I need to readjust to the tenor of a home without my children in it. I noticed that I’ve been talking out loud to myself lately when the house is quiet, which is often these days. It’s been decades since I’ve spent entire days at home by myself. Jazz flows through the kitchen speaker morning to night, but I don’t always want someone else’s words cluttering my thoughts.
I’m not an external processer, so it’s taken me by surprise to find that I want to voice my thoughts, especially when no one is here to listen to them except for the dog. At the sound of my voice, he picks his head up an inch from the sofa and wiggles his eyebrows up and down until he’s certain I’m not discussing a possible cheese-eating opportunity. Alas, I’m often narrating something aloud that I usually reserve for my inner monologue.
I have been a quiet person all my life. In high school, I was downright self-preservationally silent. But, for a year now, when I sit down to pray, I continue to sense this gentle directive.
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