what's in my wall?
Ten minutes while coffee perks. Once again I am up at an ungodly hour ... odd phrase that, as though God always manages to sleep in late. I can see Him waking up around noon with a leisurely yawn. Yeah, unless I get my eight hours I'm a rag, He says. Then He snaps His fingers and coffee and donuts pour from the sky. In truth this is a pretty darn Godly hour. You feel close to the unseen presence in the middle of the quiet and restful dark. You're up, and you know God is up. Not too many others. If you need spiritual relief, the line is shorter at this time of day. (May sound a bit dodgy to compare God to a bathroom, but I'm sure He's heard worse. )
Only, darn it all, my own quiet is being invaded right now. Doesn't take much to ruin quiet, does it? Quiet is a crisp white suit, and the world is a football crowd holding beer and hot dogs. Quiet is a balloon in an iron maiden, a green lawn in October, a souffle in an earthquake, a ... well, you get the idea.
My own quiet is being broken by what I figure is an animal in my wall. Somewhere to the left of me -- about three arms' lengths away -- a small and furtive skritching and skratching is going on. It could be a gnome working away at a wood carving, I suppose, but common sense says different. I picture claws and teeth scraping away at plaster. I leap from my desk to pound on the wall, and the skritching stops ... for about a minute. Then it picks up again. Animals (or gnomes) have no attention span. I pound again, and go downstairs for coffee.
I'm back ... and so is the noise. Drat. Now let me summon together my manifold powers of concentration. Can I block the skritching and get to work? Can I focus only on the flickering pixels in front of me? Deep breath, find the zen, get in the zone, and ...
Drat again. Well, I'm off travelling again in an hour or so. BC this time -- see some old friends and meet some new ones. I may try a blog from away, but if I don't get round to it you can expect me back about a week from now. I know, I know -- I just got back. What kind of weekend fair weather blogger am I? you ask, and of course you're right. Mea culpa. Look, I promise that this is the last time I go anywhere until May.