Thursday, November 4, 2010

pitter patter

This morning I woke up to the sound of the rain falling on the roof. Not really, I actually heard the hubs' alarm go off first. It was loud and beeping. A lot. He turned it off and that's when I heard the rain pitter pattering on the roof top and falling on the trees. The sweet soothing sound lulled me to sleep again. And the hubs' alarm went off, again. Thankfully he turned it off. For the reals this time and I was left to enjoy my sleepy rain.

The drip drip dripping and the pitter patter pattering have cast a spell over me. Quiet and melancholy. Most of my mornings are quiet, so I suppose that's nothing new, but melancholy is not so typical. So I sat on the couch, as I do most mornings, and I looked out the window. Fresh drops of rain dripping from the trees and leaves outside the window. Then the rain grew louder, and louder. I just sat and listened. Wishing I had a mug of hot something to drink, the only thing I have on hand is water, and I'm not a particular fan of hot water (I prefer mine cold, or at least room temperature). But since I didn't have anything to add to my hot water I sat and listened while I watched the rain fall.

And this is what I thought... I think I was born in the wrong century. I mean, really. Although, I suppose there is some reason I was born when I was and am where I am, right now. But spending the mornings alone, especially the rainy ones makes me feel like I should have been born hundreds of years ago. When everything was simple. When families had their own bit of land and grew carrots and squash and knew what herbs were good for you and what ones would kill you. When everything was fresh and untarnished. It was was it was. I feel like I would have been able to sit on the porch with my basket full of socks that needed darning (that's what all the books say... whatever darning is exactly I don't really know, I just know that I would have liked it) and pass the evening away working on them. Or with a basket full of green beans that needed stringing or corn that needed shucking (if that's a word) and I would have sat there with my legs dangling over the porch while stringing and and shucking my beans and corn.

Another thing I would have loved about it would be the fact that I could spend my days in the kitchen (some of them at least) cooking. And everything I cooked or baked would have been fresh and from scratch. I can and do try to do that now (although it seems to be especially difficult in this temporary house), but it's not the same as using what you grew or hunted (not that I hunt, I'd leave that to someone else) to make your meals with. But it just seems like it would have been so rewarding, working on the meal all afternoon and then enjoying it with friends and family. Yes, sure, you can still spend an afternoon working on a meal for you family to enjoy (and I do), but some how it seems a little bit different.

It just seems like it would have been a hearty time to be. Not that there's nothing to do these days or that there is too much to do, it just seems like it would have been more simple like way back then. And that's what I like. Simple. Even the cereal isle at the grocery store is a little too overwhelming for me.

I feel like it's the simple things in life that we miss out on. Or at least I do. I don't get to enjoy the rain falling so much, or watching the snow slowly cover the earth. I don't get to sit outside and see the stars hanging so bright and close in the sky. There are always "things" to do. Distractions. And while I'm sure there where things for people way back when to do, and there was probably a different set of distractions for them, I feel like it would still be a more simple, hearty time. When people had what they had and were happy with it. When they didn't need every new fancy toy or gadget that came along. They were just happy with a hook and some yarn or some other such thing and could spend the day crafting something beautiful and useful with their own two hands. And while they twisted their yarn and pulled it through with their hooks and needles, they would sit and listen to the rain falling, or the fire crackling, or the birds singing. And that would be ok. There would be no other agenda for them, it wouldn't be a hobby to pass the time, but a way of life.

So the pitter patter and drip drip dripping of the rain got me thinking...

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