i’ve reeeally not been a nap person. napping in the daytime makes me feel kind of out-of-it, like i have to start the day all over again. but in these new days of insomnia…sleeplessness…big swaths of night wide-awake…well, the circumstances are a little different.
it is much easier for – him – to take a nap.
fact of the matter is, it’s much easier for him to sleep. any time. any where. sleep. sleep. sleep.
i’m not sure how he does it, but he lays his head down and he’s gone. meanwhile, i am tossing and turning and trying to figure out why his even breathing is so utterly annoying. yes, i know – i am simply jealous of his sleeping, sleeping, sleeping.
and so, i thought i’d give it a chance – a daytime nap. i knew it would never work. i knew i’d lay down and be wide awake, despite being utterly exhausted. i knew the daylight would prevent me from sleeping. i knew he’d sleep in a second and i would be yearning to just get-up and do-something.
there is little as comfortingly sweet as watching your dog sleep. dogdog is whirling motion so when he sleeps in your presence it is a magical time of trust and deep respite. the vision of him asleep on the bed or in the middle of the living room rug is a picture of all-is-right-in-the-world; he has no other cares except he is with his people and he can rest.
some of the times i remember most about when My Girl and My Boy were young are the times they fell asleep with me holding them, in my arms, on my lap. the moment you feel their little-child-body relax and fall into you. exquisite.
it’s that moment you sigh and lay your head back to nap with someone you love. the moment you close your eyes on the beach towel in the sun, warm sand beneath you. the moment you drift off in the grass watching the clouds. oh yes, the moment your face plants against the window at the rest area during your long journey and a couple hours pass by. the moment, hiking in high mountains, you lean against a tree and your eyes close to the sound of the wind in the aspens.
rest. a time of no real conscious worry. a time of innate trusting that all-will-be-well. a time of repose, of tranquility, of solace.
i have found, sometimes, if i want to go to sleep and cannot, that if i watch dogga or babycat sleep it will slow my overthinking-breathing. it will settle my heart and mind a bit. it will remind me that my own whirling motion – physical, intellectual, emotional – needs time to rest, to curl up on the living room rug and close my eyes.
we haven’t just dreamed at the rest area. we have out and out drooled at the rest area. faces planted against the window, pillow smushed between forehead and glass, i’m sure we’ve been a spectacle.
one time we pulled into a rest area in iowa when it was still dark. we chose a spot close to the building. we just needed a few minutes to close our eyes. when we woke up, the sun was up, the rest area was full of people coming and going and our bodies were stiff from a shocking three hours of rest-area-sleeping. barely able to move, i slowly unfurled from my up-close-and-personal relationship with the steering wheel and d attempted to bring his foot down from the dashboard. with plenty of square-car-glass making us visible – like a snowglobe scene without the snow – we were right in the line of vision of absolutely anyone who had stopped to use the facilities. our wrinkled faces and the fog on the windows next to our baked-sweet-potato-smushy-visages belied any other story except resting-at-the-rest-area. i’m sure we were charming to look at.
it is not without stopping at a few rest areas that little baby scion has 237,000 miles on it. our road warrior days are accompanied by snacks and punctuated by rest areas. it’s a roadtrip symphony of necessities.
when we were driving long distance just a few days ago we googled the approximate distance across the united states, which, surprisingly, is around 3000 miles. (kansas and pennsylvania and north dakota make it seem so much further, and, going the other way, so do georgia and indiana.) but i digress. so that means that the current mileage equates to having driven this little vehicle 79 times across the country.
we have visited rest areas in most states in this nation and we can tell you where the nice ones are, like the ones in ohio on i80. we can also tell you where the scary ones are: montana, a certain rest area down south where you drive about a mile off the road and a couple security guards watch you walk in and out of the building. you can get a free cup of coffee at the rest area on the eastern side of colorado and orange or grapefruit juice entering florida. you can get maps and brochures at most rest areas and the ones in indiana specialize in those magazines where you can find coupons for hotels you would rather not stay in. pennsylvania has full-service areas, as does one little spot in kansas. you can “eat and get gas” as they say, the word-smithing on that not expected to be classy. you are reminded that this is a rest area, after all.
the rest area on the way home from on-island is always a stopping ground these days. for various reasons we won’t list, the little blue sign on the side of the road is a welcome sight and we eagerly pull into a spot. recently, after packing for hours and then leaving, we leaned back and closed our eyes at this wayside. full-out dreaming commenced. when we woke, which wasn’t too long after, we shared notes and our surprise about falling asleep in a matter of minutes. d said, “if you can dream at the rest area, you’re supposed to be there.” yup. i bet all kinds of safety engineers would agree with that.
it was in iowa again – this state must make us tired – just a few days ago on a trip when we traveled 24 hours in a 36 hour period of time. having sampled (read: gorged on) the whole buffet of snacks, i was driving, desperately seeking the little blue sign, pining for the chance to close my eyes.
alas, finally. the rest area. we pulled in. d handed me a pillow. i laid my face against the window. and voila! a sight to behold.
it snowed a lot here in the last week or so. d tried to make our broken-ancient-snowblower into happy news of “getting exercise.” the piles-of-snow-in-parking-lots are really high and they are at that stage where they look like yesterday’s news – they are dirty and a little tired. today and tomorrow it’s supposed to rain which might clear some of that out. our little xb (aka “little baby scion”) is filthy. i look at the weather apps on my phone often, looking for sunny days and temperatures that linger above 50 degrees (maybe.)
we were out on the east coast last summer and went down to the cape to enjoy some beach time. it was heaven. (yes, i know the proper use is “heavenLY” but trust me, it was heaven.) a warm day, ocean waves, full of lobster and amazing seafood we had eaten from wood’s seafood and fish market, we laid out our blanket. we talked, we drew in the sand, we walked on the water’s edge, we collected rocks and shells, we napped. the nap wasn’t intentional. but it was delicious. if i close my eyes, i can almost (almost) touch it.
right about now, i am yearning for a nap on the beach. so this stunning painting-by-my-sweet-husband on this dr thursday (david robinson thursday) in the melange speaks to me. i’d imagine there are a few of you out there in the middle-of-winter who might be with me on that.
reverse threading 