Curtains

Over the last few months each morning I've thought about the rhythms we have. This summer I put in drapes and shears in the large living room window, something I have looked forward to for years, but as a renter never felt comfortable doing. I look back at how my grandmother would open the drapes each morning in a single lightening-fast movement, "Let's not wait to start the day!"

As darkness was coming there was a negotiation of when to actual resign that the day had ended. Twilight? Just after? Complete darkness or at least when the street lights came on? As the decision was made, the curtains were drawn in quickly again. "Don't linger in what isn't!"

And so, my grandmother was a master at disciplining her day and the curtains in many respects provided tangible bookends. There was time for cleaning, cooking, working, eating, family moments, reading or crafts, more cleaning, and bed. The copper got polished, the dusting got done, sickness interrupted and receded, and each day the curtains revealed and then concealed. Each day life lived.

Good morning