Who, in an overbooked moment, has not imagined how WONDERFUL it would be to cocoon in a comfortable armchair, wrapped in a blanket, reading a good book?
“I could stay there forever!” I’ve thought.
And yet, when the opportunity arises – as it did this past week in the ice-covered hill that was our neighborhood – forever needed to end after about 24 hours.
First, there was the observation that a neighbor in her 70s (who apparently tolerates the cocoon for only a few hours) was skating toward her mailbox, arms flailing. She made it back with a few letters – hopefully not just bills.
“Ridiculous!” I muttered. And then found myself doing the same thing the very next morning. An irresistible itch had set in to escape the four walls.
By the time the sun came out on Thursday and did its sparkling, magical melt, I had learned something from the other side of an overbooked life. Solitude is delicious at first, but a little goes a long way with me.
