It is Sunday morning. Remi has gone to the train station to pick up a friend from Paris who is in desperate need of sun. At my suggestion, he took Ben with him. Before the heat sets in, our dog will enjoy the ride and make fellow drivers smile from his post at the back of the car. I had a few small but crucial items to buy–coffee, toothpaste–the things that glue our going together. I turned without thinking down the alleyway that curves sinuously to the shops, a route I now take to avoid passing in front of the door of a friend that is no longer a friend, my feet padding along the cracked pavement in my espadrilles like the paws of a dog. And that is when I realize that is precisely the sound that is missing. It is odd to not have Ben near me, trotting along, looking up at me with an expectant grin, just as it was unusual to move through the apartment, straightening up, grabbing my keys, without the pull of Remi, the knowledge of him working in the other room, fed by so many pricks of the senses. The sound of a sneeze, fingers clicking on keys. Such is the life that we have chosen together that I am rarely alone. Everyday, around the clock, so close as to be enmeshed. As it is with Ben too, who is always present because we are always present. He stares at me for no reason, reeling in my attention. This is how I found my myself waking while walking, oddly conscious of the boundary of me moving forward on my own. Quiet so that I can hear my pulse and feel the air parting around my torso as if walking through waves or breathing out a bubble. Suspended for an hour or so. I can hear Remi’s keys in the lock of the front door below. I turn my chin reflexively, in anticipation that the bubble will pop.
Of course there are people who wouldn't "count" our dogs as company but then we don't count them either do we David? I honestly think that I talk more to Ben than to anyone save Remi. And even then…And yes, I too always considered myself to be incredibly self-sufficient in terms of making my own company. Not any more.
Ah, aloneness. The state of my workday, vacuous of husband, phone…solitary to look, listen, to create. Such is the state of the creation of art in my world…in that vacuous, empty, space…until I hear the key in the front door and the bubble does, indeed, break. Oops, back to the real world.
Beautiful, Heather.
xoxo, Chris
Ah, how I know that feeling of needing to see the sun.
What a beautiful piece of writing, I'm on my own so much of the time but I grew up as sort of only child ( 20 odd years between me and the next sibling) so I don't get lonely too often.
Hi Heather,
Came to you via Debra at Acquired Objects. Your video is wonderful! I love the breeze coming through, capturing one of those moments if life where you stand still and take it in… feeling thankful for all that we have. As crazy as our lives seem at times.. most of us wouldn't trade it for anything.
leslie
Hello Heather:
It is, perhaps, these times of isolation that make us acutely aware of the wonderful relationships that we are privileged to enjoy in life. And, when one has a life partner with whom one's life is inextricably linked in perfect unison, then one is indeed blessed.
You have captured here so deliciously the feeling of deep contentment that comes from reflecting upon life in all its richness, of reaching into one's inner soul, with the luxury of time in which to be calm and silent and yet knowing that one's loved ones will return before too long.A perfect Sunday!
Good Morning Heather
The video is so beautiful and peaceful. The gentle movement of the curtains and the floor to ceiling windows are what dreams are made of.
Your brief interlude on your own, on a Sunday morning, is cause for great reflection. Ben enriches your life, as does Spice Girl ours. What I find very odd is when I return and both Mike and Spice Girl are away for a day or possibly overnight once in a while and the silence and absence of life that prevails throughout the house is eerie. One knows immediately that they are the only heart beat in the entire space. I know, personally, at this stage in life, I cannot live without a dog.
Thanks for sharing another view of your beautiful home
Helen xx
I feel this way when I escape to do a bit of shopping and I'm all alone in the car. I suddenly turn around, a bit panicked that I've left someone somewhere, before realizing it is just me, all by myself, plenty of air to breathe. Clementine never really leaves and so therefore, she's usually following and beckoning just like Ben even when all of the children are at school and P's at work. Because she's my first dog ever it is a strange feeling to think I used to not have this constant companion, laying at my feet, schlumping around behind me, laying a chin on my thigh.
I hope you enjoyed your time alone. It makes the reunion so much sweeter.
bisous,
aidan
This is a wonderful, poignant reflection of looking at oneself. i am never alone…at work, on the train, at home; husband, dogs, caretakers for my lother in law, kids in amd out 9evenghough they officially no longer live at home). my luxury; in the summer, swimming in peace, alone with my thoughts – in the winter, long hikes in the woods by myself.
Funny you should write about being alone because I had the same experiance yesterday. I'm never alone and mainly because of Dylan he's always right there at my side waiting for who knows what. He's always with me too be it grabbing something at our local grocer or hardware store he's always with me. But the husband took Dylan on a joyride yesterday simply to make Dylan happy. He likes riding in our trucks with his head out the window catching the breeze. It's a weird feeling in the house not to hear some kind of noise even if it's Dylan walking across the floor. I don't mind being alone but when I am, since it's so rare, I really notice it. I need to learn to use the movie making part on my camera it seems fun.
XX
Debra~
Oh, it is incredibly strange, isn't it, Heather?—-finding yourself alone in the house and suddenly realizing that you haven't actually been alone for months and months.
I work exclusively at home, and I pass at least half of each month's days without laying eyes on another person. Herve comes home at night, of course, but he travels at least a third of each month. I should emphasize that this was even BEFORE we moved to the country this past month. The yard here, leading down to the road is bigger than my entire, previous property; so, I don't expect life will become more social on a daily basis).
the fact is, I don't even notice being "alone", since I spend a great deal of each day (including Sundays….welcome to the "freedom" of not working for anyone else) communicating, in form or another, with clients, editors, and gallery folks. Both of my parents telephone at least once per day (don't worry…most often it's only for the three minutes it takes them to tell me I should get a television, so I could who's on Oprah this morning, etcetera). The upshot is that I scarcely feel isolated…..rather the irritating opposite, in fact.
HOWEVER????…..
True, disorienting weirdness overcomes me on those days (perhaps four times per year?) when I've said goodbye to Herve in the morning and then taken all the dogs down the road to their groomer (whom they adore; Herve refers to these exuberant jaunts as "going to see The Queen").
I can't get anything done when the dogs and Herve are all gone. The goldfish, while very pretty, don't provide much in the way of company. In any case, I can't concentrate to write or draw; every three minutes, my concentration is interrupted by the sudden sensation that Something Is WRONG….rather like some mothers of small children who'll suddenly stop in alarm and think "It's TOO DAMN QUIET around here….what's wrong? what's going on?…."
This past year, I've simply taken up the habit of going on errands and shopping when the dogs are gone. There's just no point in my trying to get any-work-whatsoever done when Herve AND the dogs are gone.
I don't know what I'd do if Herve were travelling and the dogs had to stay overnight at the vet's. Given the number of dogs, that's a very unlikely coincidence, but, if it occurred, I suppose I'd simply have to ask the vet if I could stay overnight in the kennel.
So much for my famed (I really do hear about it all the time, even from near-strangers) self-sufficiency.
Level Best as Ever,
David "The processor does not function without auxilliary units" Terry
http://www.davidterryart.com