Last night�s plans for solitude were slightly derailed when my mom and dad called. It�s always nice to talk to them, but it was kind of an odd conversation, since the purpose of my mom�s call was to ask what I wanted of my grandmother�s belongings. She�s moving from a 4,000 s.f. house to a 600 s.f. apartment, so there is much that has to be disposed of. Still, it seemed kind of a morbid question. I felt bad if I said nothing, because that meant I hadn�t been paying attention. I felt bad if I made a request, because that made me feel like a vulture. In the end, my mom had some suggestions, for which I was grateful. I would love to have some of my grandmother�s things, simply because they are hers. That kind of thing means a lot to me. But at the same time, I didn�t really want to choose what those things were. I�m starting to appreciate the delicacy and difficulty of the job my mom is trying to do, dismantling a household built of a lifetime�s accumulation of objects.

The conversation came early in the evening and left me thoughtful and a bit melancholy. I had my solo dinner in silence, because silence is a relative novelty in our house, and afterwards put on an album of chant that I recorded with one of my choirs last year and just received. After listening to the music in the dark for a while, I started to run my body through the once familiar yoga routine. I started doing yoga about twenty years ago when I was in high school. I learned from a favorite aunt and a few books and did it every day for years. But recently I�ve had trouble making the time for it. I�m feeling very rusty, but my kinesthetic memory is much more reliable than other varieties. My limbs moved into position knowingly, even as my brain tried to remember what to do next. It felt good to move and stretch. After that I changed the music, turned up the volume and danced. I haven�t done that in a long time, because I feel like such an idiot, but it was fun. I miss having time and space to myself on a regular basis. Something about dancing and moving through the space in my home was satisfying. It felt like the opposite of an exorcism � the declaration of my inhabitance.

The husband and AJ got home before I could indulge in a bubble bath, although I managed to slip it into the evening�s schedule after reading stories to AJ and singing him to sleep. Today�s plans were pleasantly interrupted by an unscheduled visit from my mother- and brother-in-law. The former came to visit with AJ, the latter to ski in the woods near our house with my husband. It has been a quiet and cozy afternoon, listening to the wind roaring around the house and waiting for snow.

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