A time and space of one's own

Yawning, hair down, clad in the comfy robe and slippers, a candle and incense burning on my desk, the gentle thunder of kittens chasing each other in the background, I'm moving in the direction of semi-set Jello mode. I want a good stretch so bad right now that a medieval rack sounds appealing.

Though I've been home for a couple of hours from work, the transition from the suited, French twisted hair, sign and date this here me is not yet complete. Even with the last few years of self-employment and working when I need to, working on weekends, at least in full on business attire, just feels wrong. I'm not sure my body will ever get over the rhythm of Monday through Friday at one pace, and weekends on another. Maybe it's just one of the vestiges of structure to which I cling. Maybe I never got over a student's body clock, but I know in my bones there's a time to relax and a time to work.

I just know now that it's time to relax. I'm a shower person. I love the beat of water falling on me. I love to adjust the pressure during the shower from stinging hard to warm soft rain. Back when I had a real hot water heater that would last for more than basic cleanliness, I loved to adjust the temperature from hot to cool and back again several times during my shower. Heck, a good shower is a celebration of cleanliness and the human body. Tonight though calls for a bubble bath, the kind you see in movies where the bubbles are a foam with a life of their own. It's time to move the candles to bathroom and steal the rack I bought for the daughter that holds a book and a glass above the water level. I want a glass of a light blush wine, the uncomplicated zinfandel that would offend my oenophile friends. I'd also love to get the husband to paint the toenails for me, but some things must remain a dream.

Until I can claim the tub, I'll just enjoy these moments here alone at my desk. This is my secret haven. Though the family shares the computer, this desk is mine. Its shelves have my books and the stones that I enjoy so much -- the raw chunks of pink quartz and amethyst, the selenite that looks like it was supposed to be a sculpture of a waterfall, the short but thick slab of uxelite, the banded blue agate egg, the pebble of red agate, the smoky quartz, the obsidian, and the lace obsidian, the moonstone, the tiger's eye. I never meant to collect them, but somehow when I saw each one, I knew I had to have it. I finally gave in and admitted my love of these simple thingsto myself when I bought a heavily occluded ball of calcite and set it on its own stand. So at the foot of the cross with the handcarved Celtic interlace sits a crystal ball, a stained glass candle holder, and the incense tray. Make of it what you will. The shelves have a new addition, a very small hand carved statue of the Venus of Willendorf. She reminds me to love the body I'm in right now, not just the body I desire.

This house is mine, but only one spot in it feels like it truly belongs to me, and I think that everyone else knows this is true. One weekend, when I gather together both the energy and time, I'm going to reclaim the entire office and paint these walls some color other than wedding mint green. The photographs, memories and artwork will be hung, and then I will have a room of my own.

I want it. In fact I need it, and like that bubble bath, I'm going to have it.

nurturing