January 7: "The Mohawk Diner, 3 AM," Carrot Cake, Time of Retreat

Billy Collins being (un)observant . . . 

The Mohawk Diner, 3 AM

by:  Billy Collins

Has that revolving cake stand

always been there

or did some men install it

while you and I sat here

at the counter not saying anything?

It is pretty damn easy to be completely oblivious to the world.  Most people go through life with tunnel vision:  focused only on what personally affects them.  The revolving cake stand didn't really interest Collins when he got to the Mohawk Diner, so he ignored it.  For some reason, he suddenly became aware of the stand, perhaps because it held a piece of carrot cake with cream cheese frosting (his favorite).  Presto!  A revolving cake stand materializes before his eyes.

On this, the last day of my vacation and hermithood, I already feel the squeeze of tomorrow.  I will no longer be able to ignore completely the world, as much as I'd like to.  And today seemed like a prelude for what I'm going to encounter this coming week.  I played two church services, shopped for groceries, cleaned and straightened the house, cooked a spinach/artichoke bomb, hosted my book club's monthly meeting/dinner, and then led an online poetry workshop.

Now, I thoroughly enjoyed my time of retreat.  My mind needed the rest.  So did my body.  Today reminded me of how busy my hour-to-hour (sometimes minute-to-minute) existence really is.  I just sat down on my couch after the poetry workshop.  All the lights in the house, save the Christmas tree, are turned off.  As I stare at the ceiling, I'm slipping slowly into madness,  (That's an allusion to Jim Carrey as The Grinch, in case you didn't catch it.)

I'm going to need to conserve my peopling energy this week because I don't even want to be around myself.  Sometimes, I think authors like J. D. Salinger and Thomas Pynchon got it right.  Become successful, then disappear from the world, leaving everyone puzzled and hungry for more.  If, or when, another J. D. Salinger book appears, it will be an literary event akin to Harper Lee publishing another novel.  (Of course, Lee's Go Set a Watchman was terrible and sort of soiled her reputation.  She should have stopped at To Kill a Mockingbird.)  

I will be back, full-time, at life tomorrow morning.  If you run into me, tread lightly.  I may just grunt or nod at you.  Possibly smile, depending on how things are going.  Above all else, know that, if I'm acting stand-offish and/or antisocial, it's not you.  It's me.  Give me time and space while I get in touch with my inner extrovert.  (Yes, that's a thing.)

In the mean time, enjoy this pine tree that materialized in front of Saint Marty this morning.  Tall.  Dusted with winter.  Alone under a blue, blue sky.  A happy, little tree, as Bob Ross said.