The wind began to pitch...

The house to switch.  Child One and I, on our own with Sig Other far away across the country, huddle safely in our abode as unseasonable wind rattles the windows and shakes the doors.  It’s crazy out there.  I imagine myself as Dorothy – battened down in a house rocked by wicked witches and wacky winds.

I’d say its an October wind but for the fact that its March.  A Fall wind makes LA weird and a little sexy.  But it’s March. And so I’m feeling rather upside down.  Fall wind blows crazy hot air, keeps dogs up at night, stirs the restless from their beds, keeps the anxious on edge.  This is the wind that Southern California owns – the Scirocco of the continental US.  But tonite is different – wilder, colder, more unusual – an unpredicted storm blowing through and keeping us up on what should be a cozy night.

Crazy wind has always kept me up.  Child Two, more sensitive than most to others’ moods, noted early on that wind makes me cranky.  “Uh oh,” he’d say, “its windles.  Not good,”  And I’d know he was talking about me and my moods.  He’s right of course.   Wind has always make me cranky, put me on edge, upended my sleep, my mood, my sense of well-being.  Its as though somehow I believe that wind is a sign – a harbinger – of some unbelievable doom. 

But no such doom came tonite.  Not for Child One and myself.  We are snugged in.  Alpha and Beta seem unperturbed by the turbulent air.  Were it truly a storm I imagine the two of them upended by anxiety – running to and fro, back and forth around the house and howling in even pitch with the whipping wind.  And yet they display no such angst.  Beta Dog is snuggled sweetly beside me, head on pillow and arm thrown across as though reaching for me as Sig Other would.  Alpha lays quietly on her couch – queen of her domain and blissfully unaware of the chaos around her.  They, the both of them, are blessed with deep sleep rather than deep thoughts – one being an incontrovertible inhibitor of the other.  I envy them simplicity and bliss.  I envy them their zen.  I remain awake – Dorothy on a windy eve, hoping my house doesn’t fall on a wicked witch but liking the idea of new red shoes.

I’ve not written in months – been buried in work and in life – happy but unavailable – to my computer, to my family and friends, to myself.  So here I emerge, like a groundhog looking for my shadow and finding only an unseasonable tempest – I’m likely to disappear under ground for longer than I’d like but happy to poke my head out albeit briefly.    And for once, I’m grateful for the wind, grateful to be kept up, if only for a moment, and given the time to write…