Dearest Rachel –
It’s somewhere between appropriate and ironic that this weekend should get such a designation in the title, given Independence Day and all that. You might point out that, somewhat wryly and pace Stan Freberg, that we didn’t get out of town for the weekend like the Founding Fathers were likely to do before getting the Declaration signed, but that wasn’t an option that was on the table – if nothing else, where would we go? Besides, we haven’t been back from our own travels for all that long; it hasn’t been a month yet since we got back, so why would we want to leave again already?
No, this weekend has been free for us to do about as much nothing as possible. I told you already about my concerns about the holiday celebrations and how certain folks seem to be dreadfully offended by it. I would argue, however, that our own somewhat resultant inactivity had more to do with indifference than fear, and not just my own.
At the same time, there was also a healthy dose of bad weather thrown in for good measure. Those thunderstorms that started up on the evening of the second, while over and done with by Friday morning, didn’t cross the plains to advance on Chicago on their own. Rather, they were merely the advance guard of a series of thunderous battalions to march in formation across the area. I missed most of the deluge on Friday the third while ‘working’ in my basement ‘office,’ but Mom mentioned that the rain fell so thickly as to preclude her from being able to see the houses which share a backyard border with her for a moment. It was as if God dumped an enormous bucket on the region for a moment, and then it was over and back to normal, but it had upset things so significantly at the fairground I’d just crossed the day before as to cancel most of the activity for the day.
And as for the fourth itself, well… it wasn’t the weather that was the issue; at least, not a first. What normally would have been a get-together at a restaurant for breakfast (in lieu of the usual men’s Bible study) was called off; Jeff had sent out an email asking how many would be willing to come that morning, and apparently I wasn’t the only one not to bother letting him know that I’d be there. In fact, he got no responses by Friday, at which point he sent out an email letting us know it would be cancelled. Between that and the fact that I wasn’t assigned to the booth this week (although it wouldn’t matter, as it was already announced that the Saturday evening service would be precluded the the Fourth), this was the first Saturday in I don’t know how long when I could stay home for the entire day. I literally had that freedom, as weird as it was to look at it that way.
Not that I actually took that much advantage of the opportunity. It would have been one thing if I had the opportunity to spend a Saturday morning sleeping with you like we used to do, but as things stand today, there’s not nearly so much appeal in staying in the house all day. On the other hand, while the searing heat of Thursday had been decreased by a good ten degrees, the humidity had ratcheted up to something close to a hundred percent, so it’s not as if the great outdoors was singing a siren song, either. The only time I bothered to venture out was to grab a late lunch for me and the boys, thanks to a coupon offer texted to us by a local joint that I don’t know if we ever really bothered to patronize back in the day.
However, by the time we were finished with lunch, the skies were already starting to darkening; bear in mind, this was somewhere around three in the afternoon. On the opposite side of the calendar, this wouldn’t be so much of a surprise, but at the moment, it was a little unnerving when you looked at the clock (which, I should confess, I didn’t do at first; I just thought that I’d lost track of time, and I ought to wind down for the day and get ready for bed soon, until I checked the time). Sure enough, there was another shower, although I couldn’t judge its strength in comparison to the others, but I’d be willing to admit I’d rather not be caught out in the midst of it.
Today, however, the storms seem to have petered out, although the clouds have still been plentiful enough as to not allow the sun to show its face. Moreover, while Daniel was willing to join me for the earliest Sunday service (thereby freeing us yet again for the rest of the day) and brunch thereafter at a nearby place you and I visited barely a week or two before your accident for the first time since it had been remodeled, he wasn’t too keen about checking out the local festivities at this point. So I’ve rather given up on the idea; better to stay home and dry than squish through the soaking sod at the local fairgrounds, especially by myself.
Such is freedom, honey; it includes the right to choose not to do anything just as much as it does to do something. Call it laziness, call it indolence, call it inertia, but it’s as much an option as anything else. I’m not necessarily proud of it, but apart from explaining how I got here, I’m not going to apologize for it, either. It’s not like you wouldn’t have been willing to join me in it, after all (although you would have probably been a little more willing to go out, and might even managed to drag the three of us with you if it had gotten into your head to go).
Anyway, that’s it for now. At least my current immobility makes it easier for you to keep an eye on me, and wish me well, because I’m still going to need it.
Letters to Rachel 