Ra Lynn LoneWalker

"Believe what you like, reject what you must... ...embrace and love what touches your heart."
Saturday Morning

Saturday Morning

Sometimes, just sometimes, the inspirational places are at home with the ones we love, more so than going off to discover some new place. That’s what this blog is about, my little home and living with the one I love. Trying to keep a balance of life, love and happiness is tricky. Take a moment and read this over. I think most people can relate to life moving too fast.
Life’s a rush.

“Come on Baby, it’s time to get up,” you say. “The alarm has called out and it’s time for us to get going.”
“I hate mornings,” I say.
It’s a crazy, fast-paced world with technology pushing the envelope of speed and we are swept up in its current. The rush is pulling you in that direction while I’m going the opposite way.

“I’ll miss you.” I say.
“I don’t want to leave,” you say.

But nothing can hold back the rush. Our calendar has ink all over it to help us keep it all in order. You’ve got to be in Lodi and I have a meeting in Denver, but we hope that we can share Saturday.

“Don’t forget, your mom’s coming for a visit,” you say.
“That’s right,” I say.

In the warmth of motherly love we smile at each other over our joy of seeing her on Saturday. So the weekend flies by and the alarm brings round another Monday.

“I hate Mondays,” I say.
“Hurry, I’ve got a conference call at eight,” you say.

The shower is a flash of water to wash the sleep from our eyes. I wonder how many words we share with other people and how many we don’t share with each other. Your call ends and quickly you run off to the dry cleaner’s to refresh your suitcase. The suitcase rolls on wheels to help things move faster. You roll it out to the car and I load it in the trunk. I stand in the driveway and wave good-bye. Alone, I turn and go back to work. Alone, you drive the many miles to your next appointment. I wonder if we are becoming immune to the loneliness. At night we talk through the diffusion of our cell phones. I hope it helps fill the gap between us. But we look forward to Saturday and the weekend.

“Remember, your daughter is flying in for a visit,” I say.
“That’s right,” you say.

With the thrill of family coming together we smile at each other over the conversation on Saturday. So the weekend flies by and the alarm brings round another Monday.

“Is it morning already?” you say.
“I’ve got to get going, I have a meeting with my book designer,” I say.

The shower jump-starts our bodies better than a cup of coffee and we are at it again. I watch you get dressed. You are beautiful. Through the stress of the coming week I know I will still be in love with you when the grind comes to an end. But I wonder if there is an end to the rush. I stand in the drive and wave good-bye as you rush to catch a flight to Phoenix. Alone, I turn and go back to work.

Time alone.

In the middle of the night I reach for you, waking from my sleep but your not there. The bed feels cold and empty. I lie awake drained but unable to go back to sleep. I can’t remember which city you are in, I only know you aren’t with me. In the dark of night I decide that I need to tell to you how I feel. I never thought I would complain about it like this, but I realize that I don’t like the rush anymore.

“It’s two in the morning,” you say. “Is everything all right?”
“I don’t like this anymore. We both have been working so hard that I’ve forgotten what it is we are working towards,” I say.

The cell phone doesn’t bring the comfort I had hoped it would. The room is still empty. The hotel room you’re in is cold you tell me. Your voice lets me know what needs to happen. I know what to say but it’s scary for me.

“I think it would be best if I spent some time alone to sort things out,” I say.
“You have plenty of time alone,” you say.

I hear it in your voice, the stress that lives between us. The grind has worn us down. You speak to your friends at work about problems you used to talk to me about. And I call up some old friends to see what they have been up to and if I can come along. I notice that we have been filling the empty spaces between us and it hurts me.

“What kind of time alone?” you say.
“I need some time alone with you,” I say.

I hear it in your voice, the love that lives there for me, and I smile. You tell me how you had a dream about us driving off in a convertible on a spontaneous trip … just the two of us. I listen to the details of your dream and it’s like a breath of fresh air. In your dream you saw us burning our scheduling books, flinging our cell phones to the side of the road, and leaving our obligations behind.

“We have the weekend,” I say.
“Let’s play possum,” you say.

Saturday morning never looked so good. The sun is shining bright. It’s up there to wake us up. It’s quiet and no one else is around, it’s just you and I. The sky is blue and inviting us to enjoy the day.

“Honey, I didn’t know how much I missed you … I can’t tell you how good it feels to have you by my side,” I say.
“My love for you is strong, and in my weaker moments it’s what keeps me going,” you say.

In the haven of my mind, thoughts are no longer distracted or scattered. They are focused and right there with me, feeling the soft warm kisses you give me. The book I had been writing lies half-unwritten, absorbing the rush of life. And we, well, we share Saturday alone together.