Unfortunately, I learned last night that foregoing an afternoon nap does not necessarily help with January insomnia. As I lay thrashing about at 4.30 a.m., I thought about the blog post I’d just written, burbling (that word again) happily about seeing a movie with my friend, going on and on, as I do, about my ordinary days. People who read this blog must think I’m a Pollyanna, I thought, always beaming with cheer.
And I thought about my emphatically non-Pollyanna times. In my 25 1/2 years in this house, I have lived through the worst experiences of my life, right here, in this kitchen – the too-early death of my father in 1988; the agonizing end of my marriage not long after that; the even worse early days, early months and years, of the divorce – my sheer terror and endless guilt. The years of my childrens’ adolescence, which were so difficult and exhausting, I don’t even want to begin to recall them. The fire in 2005 – the house a smouldering charred wreck, me imagining us wandering and homeless. No wonder I marvel all the time at the tranquillity of a settled woman with grown children and a fine, solid house.
And I thought, who knows what’s coming down the pike? All I can do, all we can do, is remain open to right now. Right now, a dark, dreary day which started with sleet and will lead to snow – it’s almost night out there at 4 p.m. A quiet day; a dear student came this afternoon, a friend is coming for dinner, at Doubletake, I bought a funny sweater with Scottie dogs all over it. Right now, the paperwhite bulbs a friend gave me for Christmas are growing up straight and green; the cat is crunching her food, the furnace rumbles, and in the middle of it all, right now, I am alive. Not only alive, but well.
Not sleeping well, but otherwise, this minute, pretty damn well. I, Pollyanna Kaplan, celebrate that.
