Two Views of the Same Night

Mr. Frumble of Busytown

Hemingway famously said that when you needed to start writing, "write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence you know."

At 9:30 p.m. last night, here was my one true sentence: I am worn to the nub.

We are on overload on several fronts.

For me, it is the newest diagnosis. One of the hallmarks of having bone marrow - my hemoglobin, specifically - functioning subpar is to be exhausted.

Not tired. Exhausted.

But trying to spin it differently, I instead told myself last night that I had had a busy day (Justice Bus), a busy week (Concert Week).

That line of thinking reminded me of the Richard Scarry books about Busytown. Who was the pig character that never got things straight? Mr. Bumbles?

I had to Google it: Mr. Frumble.

And then I stopped writing, too tired to move the pen across the paper. 

That was my second one true sentence: I am too tired to write.

But there was more to last night than the exhaustion. 

Earlier that evening, we had dinner guests: this weekend's guest artist and his partner, who also performs. 

Leading up to dinner, I realized I had to come to grips with "enough."

Did I clean the house to a white glove inspection standard? No. I cleaned it to a level where I was comfortable having guests in our home. 

And that was enough.

And the meal? I made apple pie, of course. And a salad and a main dish. But instead of rushing to the store to add this or that special ingredient, I made do with what we had here in our freezer and pantry (sauteed zucchini/onions with pasta). The Parmesan cheese was just out of the shaker - nothing fancy there. I thawed and warmed an uncut loaf of bread I had picked up elsewhere instead of trying to find the time and energy to make a loaf from scratch. And I didn't worry about anything else other than having a good meal.

And that was enough.

What counted last night was the laughter and the talk (and the pie). Our guests, who are on a long recital tour, were grateful for a home-cooked meal. 

And pie. Peter ate three slices while we sat and talked the evening away.

And that was enough.

I wrote the first view of my evening last night after our guests left and Warren and I finished cleaning up the kitchen. I wrote the second part, well, took notes for the second part, after going upstairs to our bedroom. I made those notes feeling tired but grateful. Grateful for a wonderful evening of good conversation and good food and good pie.

And that, truly, was enough.