Surrounded
Bedtime. But not quite. My Baton Rouge house usually winds down around 9:00-10:00 p.m.; human and dog+cat mealtimes as well as "constitutionals" and last-time-around personal hygiene chores all hum to a conclusion in sort-of concert.
This night, however, the greyhound fretted back and forth between the hallway and my bed, giving the impression that he couldn't quite decide whether to jump up and give himself up to the "end of day" lay-about or "botherate" me to the point at which I interrupt my own end-of-day lay-about to discern the whys and wherefores of his disquiet. Tonight I opted for "get it over with" and followed him to the driveway door. I collared the pesky canine and we stepped into the 10:00 night. Always, when I am outdoors late on a summer evening, the locusts, crickets and sometimes frogs from the nearby pond surround me with a familiar, nearly hypnotic crescendo of their natural nocturnal musicale'.
Particularly did tonight's concert affect my mood and perception of being "in the moment." As I stepped from my home into the dark driveway and the street, the feeling of ease and security, which is to say, comfort, was seamless. No more insecure did I feel, while standing with my canine companion amid the noisy festival of night creatures and shadow of live oaks than I was moments before, behind locked doors in my tiled kitchen.
Yesterday I received the unwelcome news that my newly-adopted New Orleans neighborhood racked up a third and fourth murder for the year. (If there were more, I don't want to know about it.) In contrast to the security and calm that follows me in and out-of-doors in this unworried Baton Rouge neighborhood, the unrest and nervous "heads-up" caution I must maintain for basic safety when on the sidewalk in New Orleans now seemed to shadow me into the house after I locked the front door behind me in my beautiful, old and already much-loved bit of "Big Easy." Every sound and creak suggested danger and threat. Each bolted door and every drawn shade and curtain only seemed to guarantee that the tension would remain within.
I seek to resolve this circumstance of paralyzed emotions by reminding myself that, even on this quiet Baton Rouge cul-de-sac of nosy Republicans (who keep up with each other almost as regularly as they keep up with the weeds (not) in their front lawns) there are still those few who see a threat in every jogger, a murderous maniac in every unfamiliar pick-up truck.... I don't want to admit to fear of my surroundings beyond a natural caution toward the unknown and unproven. That, I've decided for now, is the context of this current case of nerves: until I know more about what goes on beyond my front door, I can't very well expect to determine a level of comfort inside or outside. So I'll give it some time and oblige the current state of alert -- rein in the imagination to an acceptable level of trust that things will settle in to a more-comfortable routine in New Orleans. Not the same as here, but comfortable in a different way, for different reasons.
This night, however, the greyhound fretted back and forth between the hallway and my bed, giving the impression that he couldn't quite decide whether to jump up and give himself up to the "end of day" lay-about or "botherate" me to the point at which I interrupt my own end-of-day lay-about to discern the whys and wherefores of his disquiet. Tonight I opted for "get it over with" and followed him to the driveway door. I collared the pesky canine and we stepped into the 10:00 night. Always, when I am outdoors late on a summer evening, the locusts, crickets and sometimes frogs from the nearby pond surround me with a familiar, nearly hypnotic crescendo of their natural nocturnal musicale'.
Particularly did tonight's concert affect my mood and perception of being "in the moment." As I stepped from my home into the dark driveway and the street, the feeling of ease and security, which is to say, comfort, was seamless. No more insecure did I feel, while standing with my canine companion amid the noisy festival of night creatures and shadow of live oaks than I was moments before, behind locked doors in my tiled kitchen.
Yesterday I received the unwelcome news that my newly-adopted New Orleans neighborhood racked up a third and fourth murder for the year. (If there were more, I don't want to know about it.) In contrast to the security and calm that follows me in and out-of-doors in this unworried Baton Rouge neighborhood, the unrest and nervous "heads-up" caution I must maintain for basic safety when on the sidewalk in New Orleans now seemed to shadow me into the house after I locked the front door behind me in my beautiful, old and already much-loved bit of "Big Easy." Every sound and creak suggested danger and threat. Each bolted door and every drawn shade and curtain only seemed to guarantee that the tension would remain within.
I seek to resolve this circumstance of paralyzed emotions by reminding myself that, even on this quiet Baton Rouge cul-de-sac of nosy Republicans (who keep up with each other almost as regularly as they keep up with the weeds (not) in their front lawns) there are still those few who see a threat in every jogger, a murderous maniac in every unfamiliar pick-up truck.... I don't want to admit to fear of my surroundings beyond a natural caution toward the unknown and unproven. That, I've decided for now, is the context of this current case of nerves: until I know more about what goes on beyond my front door, I can't very well expect to determine a level of comfort inside or outside. So I'll give it some time and oblige the current state of alert -- rein in the imagination to an acceptable level of trust that things will settle in to a more-comfortable routine in New Orleans. Not the same as here, but comfortable in a different way, for different reasons.
posted by Pelican Stories at 8:02 PM
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