39 oct 2004
Three in the Morning
by Nanci Olesen
At 3 a.m. our house
was quiet. Our nine year old woke me
with her barky cough. I got her a drink
of water,
moved her to our bed, and slithered in
next to her. I tried to to sleep. Then
I heaved
myself out of the bed and went to lie
on the couch in the living room to listen
to the clock tick. I passed the time
reviewing
the undone things in my work life, my
housework life, and my family life. I planned
birthday parties for my children and reconciliation
lunches with long lost coworkers. I reorganized my goals.
I listened to the furnace and wondered
if I should have the furnace guy come
check it. I tried to imagine the day ahead:
would I find time to practice the piano?
Why did I sign up for piano lessons if
I never find time to practice? I fretted
about our checkbook balance and our work/home
balance. I wondered how my sister was REALLY
doing on her pregnancy bedrest for the
umpteenth week. I planned new ways to keep
her spirits up. Then I started thinking
of our dad, and how he had died so unexpectedly
and how odd it was to wake up in the middle
of the night and feel him gone. Then I
wondered if I should just go iron my shirt for work
so that it was all ready. Then I started
trying to remember all my friends' phone
numbers in grade school. Then I
listed all my teachers from kindergarten
through senior year of high school. Then
I remembered old boyfriends and clumsy
first dates and unresolved break ups. I
moved on to the big stuff: global warming,
the presidential election, whether Mt.
St. Helens was going to blow again, and
a recent article I had read about the horrors
of the war in Iraq. I got up to get tea.
I stood and looked out the window. I pictured
myself standing there, ten years from now,
with no kids in the house, drinking tea
in the middle of the night.
I returned
to the couch. My thoughts started to
get murky and confused. The window was
streaked with rain. I pulled a blanket
over myself and curled up tight. If I was
lucky I could get another two hours of
sleep before the breakfast /school bus/lunchmaking
/permission slip signing morning began.
The couch felt warm and safe and real.
I fell back asleep, hard.
In the morning
it was all still there: unfinished lists,
the shirt to iron for work, the weird
sound in the furnace, the war in Iraq,
the threat
of global warming, and the looming presidential
election. I folded the couch blanket
and started the coffee.
—Nanci Olesen
producer and host, MOMbo: 1990-2007 |
