i know this isn't a trick of gravity, but it's just fun. and somehow relates to my post. we may or may not have let this stand for three hours last night.
while i was in the thrones of my coughing and sneezing, robert slept on the couch for his own well-being. (and partially for his sanity, as i was up half the night.)
on sunday morning, i slid up next to him on the cushions and let the sunshine pour in and let pablo burrow his nose into the crook of my arm. there's something about sunshine. for all its golden beauty, when it hits a little house at just the right angle, it illuminates every single dust particle in every single nook and cranny.
i looked at the coffee table. how can you sit here and not be bothered by that dust? i asked him.
oh, i don't know, he replied. i guess i just don't look for the dust, that's all.
but i realized something. i do.
i look for the dust. the speck of mess. the splatter.
i seek out the things to change. to tidy up. to wash and put away. to vacuum and swiffer.
reasons to fall just a few steps behind as robert's walking out the front door and i'm straightening up piles, drying that last dish or arranging the magnets on the refrigerator.
some saturday mornings, robert sleeps late and i clean. i pull out the wash rags and put on my old cheerleading shorts and get on my hands and knees against the linoleum. and it feels good. and it should be done. but how many chances have i missed to catch pablo as he first wakes up? that sacred moment when his eyelids peel open and he yawns with his head thrown back. or that sweet sigh that escapes as robert rolls over and lays his arm on my side of the bed.
the thing i'm starting to realize, is that the work is hardly ever done. to seek it out is to only make our already stressed, busy, bodies go crazy.
instead, i vow to look beyond the dust. at what's on the table. the roses sitting in the izze juice bottle. the literature books. the pretty baby fern taken from mama's big fern in the living room where i grew up.
to feast my eyes upon the beautiful, and let the rest slide beyond my view.