Gerry and I went to bed early last night, still recovering from our extremely long road trip of last week. He settled in with his Suduko book and I was looking forward to getting back to the book I had started the night before called Middle-Aged Spread: Moving to the Country at 50.
I set my pillows up in my favorite reading position, snuggled in under my blue bargello Amish quilt with the dogs curled up beside me, and was immediately transported to the author's Ontario country home. As I read visions of Manderley danced through my head.
I hadn't been reading very long when I was disturbed by a persistent thwack-thwack-thwack from outside - seemingly originating from right above our house. It took a few moments for me to realize that it was a helicopter flying overhead. Thwack-thwack-thwack, over and over, back and forth, again and again it continued.
Gerry got up and peeked through the blinds.
"Is it the news or a police helicopter?" I asked, as if it made any difference.
He couldn't tell what kind of helicoptor it was even though it sounded like it was hovering right outside of our bedroom window. Regardless, my peace was disturbed and I lamented once again about the constant stressors we find ourselves facing in this 21st century life.
It wasn't enough for me to be disturbed by the thwacking coming from outside, I also had to speculate about the cause. Was there a terrible car accident on the nearby highway? Were the police in pursuit of a criminal in our neighborhood?
I found myself longing once more for a silent and solitary place to live.
At some point the helicopter either went away or I was able to block the sound from my consciousness and, somewhat disgruntled, I returned to my book.
Sometimes I am afraid that I am turning into a curmudgeon and I wonder if I should resist this crusty character that overtakes me at times or embrace it as a part of growing older.
Something to think about.