When Beren was an infant, Jared and I contrived "solo time". Solo time is exactly as it sounds. One adult alone, no others, and hopefully not even the sounds of others.
As Beren grew, we all came to need what is now known as "alone time", which is exactly as it sounds. Respectfully, if at our individual best, one can request alone time. Or, while in state of disequilibrium, one might be asked by another family member, "Do you need alone time?" Or, another family member might say more forcefully, "I think you need alone time."
All three of us are sick. As unkind as it may sound, I could use some alone time. I am closed up in the office writing. All that stands between me and another human being is a misaligned door that does not lock. It has no lock. Of our interior doors, only our attic door locks.
A locked door can still be knocked on or pounded on or talked through. Knocking, pounding or talking through a locked door may be as disruptive and opening and passing right through an unlockable door.
Nothing stands between me and the call and response of Beren and Jared's staccato coughs. I hear every note. Only the finest nuances of the coughs are blunted by the unlocking door and twelve inch circa 1850s walls that are packed with newspaper, horse hair, rock debris, plaster, and all manner of things I assume are in there and I hope to never meet firsthand.
Beren is in the room immediately adjacent. The woodstove room as we three call it, though Beren recently called it the Lego room. I hear him shuffling through his Legos. They clink together and slide across the floor. He may burst into the office at any moment to show me the latest creation he has made on behalf of Ice Queen, a frosty caped Lego figurine that recently acquired Bird Man's mask (our name not Lego's). Beren has decreed his entire Lego collection be mined for white and clear blocks for Ice Queen's own use. She now has an elaborate and lovely kingdom.
Jared's occupation is quieter. He is on the couch reading. He is covered by blankets. He has been rather sick. He even suggested to Beren that they two could learn a lesson (ha ha! see my previous day's writing) from how I handle a cold, by sleeping all day. He is often quite good about drinking teas and taking herbs, yet less good at slowing the heck down.
Earlier today, we discovered our weekly shopping had occurred eight days ago, and we had only beef and no vegetables for dinner. Or was it lunch? Time has no meaning when you are surviving on herbal teas, ramen, and pretzels and cannot breathe or swallow properly. In short, no one wanted beef.
We went to Bamboo House and ordered soup and noodles. "Still coughing?" the owner asked Beren. "Drink lots of water with honey and lemon." Beren and I had gone there for dinner Sunday night for our other family contrivance which we call "a change of pace"."A change of pace" is usually prefaced by "I need a" or "You could use a" or "We all need a".
"Alone time" and "a change of pace" are so very, so very helpful.
After Bamboo House, we shopped at Kimberton Whole Foods. I left the guys in the truck. When I returned to the truck with our groceries, I opened the door and found the backseat piled with crumpled used tissues. Something about that made me grumpy. Perhaps my alone time had not been long enough and the bleary eyed, mucus-y people that once again faced me did not offer a change of pace from the previous week.
I heard Beren ask for something. I thought I heard Jared say that Beren wanted something sweet to eat. I snapped, "What?!"
"Are you mad?" Jared asked. "No, just talk louder my ears are clogged with fluid from this cold," I grumped, half truthful, half liar.
"Oh, ok, Beren is just looking for something easy to eat," said Jared. "I got berries. I need to go back in and get tissues, if you load the groceries," I replied.
While waiting in line, the cashier remarked, "Back for tissues?" "When I got back to the truck with my groceries and saw my sick family, I realized I forgot to get them." The woman in well-worn Carhartt's in front of me chuckled. I sighed and smiled wistfully.
I have enjoyed this alone time in the office. I need more, and what I really need is a change of pace and for us all to get better.