Soul Siesta's

  • Wednesday, February 6, 2013

Somewhere along the way, my knack for napping vanished. In fact, the last nap good nap I took, I lost a gall bladder.

I have a friend who has perfected the art. The entire world, including salesmen and the mailman know that she is napping every day between two and 4-ish. There were several times I forgot what time it was and called during the sacred siesta. I hung up promptly when she answered with "This damn well better be good."

Seeing as she was my best friend and I couldn't talk to her for two hours a day. I eventually started taking a nap myself.

I concluded during my kid's teen years that both bath's and naps subdue the inertia of daytime drama. I convinced myself into believing that if I didn't know about it, it didn't happen. The house was always unnaturally quiet upon waking, but I didn't smell smoke and no-one was bleeding.

Impasse. I didn't ask questions, they didn't offer answers. I believe that they presumed (as well as I) that whatever did happen during naps was partly my own fault for laying down on the mom job.  As the kids got older, they delighted in telling me all the crap that they got away with in my down time. During my daily intermission's they smoked  cigarettes, sucked all the cheese out of the aerosol cans of Easy Cheese and took joy rides down the dirt road.

I perfected the art of napping so well that I fell asleep at a Mc D's drive through once when I missed my midday slumber. I was so embarrassed that I drove on through without ordering. I passed the pick up window with my visor pulled down, sitting high in the seat so they couldn't see me.

My nap sessions began waning as the years went by and culminated into something really weird. I would have lucid, horrendous nightmares within minutes after drifting off to sleep. One of the nicer ones;  I was in the hospital and the nurse was putting my new bundle of joy in my arms. E.T. Yes the extraterrestrial. I eventually quit taking the naps, except for an occasional Sunday afternoon and often even then I would jump startled to the floor.

I found myself alone on the couch this week. Tired of reading, I put my book down and closed my eyes. The patio door was open, the sun and breeze had already knocked out our Lab Snowy. Kicking my sandals off, I pulled my feet up on the couch. I recalled situations and moments of the best naps I could remember. A swing outside hung from an ancient oak tree, The gentle rock of a boat in a quiet covey, the sound of fish tails softly slapping the water. Lying down with my baby brother, my child or my grandchild to put them to sleep and falling asleep myself with their fingers curled around mine.

My lips pursed the silent mantra "I'm not going to sleep, I'm not going to sleep,  I'm not...." The whir of the ceiling fan blades and tic-tock of the grandfather wall clock droned me to the zone. "E.T. Go Home"

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