The Sound of Silence

The night before my first quiet day, I dressed up, went out with Michael for a little wine and romance. With Italian Pinot Grigio in hand, we dined on delicious sea food and decadent chocolate desserts, while over looking Lake Houston. The breeze was balmy, and heavily scented with honey suckle and jasmine. We dined early and went back to the house for espresso from our imported espresso maker. We sipped and giggled the evening away. Full of rich food and thoughts, we drifted off to sleep.
Day 1- I wasn't as quiet as I had wanted to be. Michael felt like my silence on his only day off was more of a punishment than a sacrifice. I thought that was humorous, since many men I know would pay nearly any price to have their wife be silent for a week. After being married for 10 years and knowing each other for nearly 29 years, he still enjoys the sound of my voice. We spent the day together, as we do every time he gets a day off. We putz around in the yard, do the odd chore and eventually end the day with walking the dogs and a bike ride. We talked about our options when he gets transferred to Chicago. I feel his frown while we walk. Michael gets so sad when forced to deal with his current job situation. It breaks my heart to see it. We tell each other we will figure it out. We remind ourselves how lucky we are he still has a job. I get home and find a message on my phone from one of my adopted kids. I call him to find out he has big things coming at him from every direction. Many kids he went to school with are losing their teaching jobs. I remind him he is exceptional. I remind him I love him and think he has become a wonderful man, one that his mom and I can be proud of. He tells me all that he is facing. We speak quietly for minutes and then he is gone, with the assurance that he will let me know how things go. Moments later, Michael and I are packing up the bikes to go riding. Ice water, bike locks, sun glasses, and cell phones in case of emergencies, almost always emergencies that have nothing to do with us but others. We ride going along as I get lost in my thoughts. We don't talk much while we ride because one is always in front. Holding a conversation is nearly impossible. As my hair waves in the back of me I try and stay present, looking at the scenery. It's beautiful here now, lush, green, heavily coated in vines. We are riding to a park several miles away. I wonder if I am going to feel too tired to make it. I feel my hands buzz from leaning on them so hard to keep some of my weight off my posterior. By the time we get close to the park, I am just happy to be out. Our speed is not what Mike truly likes to do. We average 9-10 miles per hour. We call this speed toodling. When we pick up speed, I feel as though I am missing things. "Did you see that turtle?" Nope, going too fast, so today we toodled. Suddenly, a large bug hits me square in the eye. Luckily I have my protective sun glasses on. Both of us slightly dazed I continue on while he breaks open and falls to the path. We got to the park and locked our bikes to a near by bike rack. We wander down the wooden path to the pier overlooking the lake. I am still not talking, but I am "HmmmHmmm"-ing a lot. The afternoon is a lovely lazy Sunday and it seems everyone is out enjoying the weather. We sit drinking our cold water, watching nothing, doing nothing, just being in each other's presence. I look at my husband and smile. He smiles back and says he can't tell what I am thinking since I forgot to take off my glasses. I laugh and slide the glasses down to the end of my nose. My eyes say "I love you" and he immediately gets it. He slides his hand in mine as we continue to sit.
Eventually, before the rigor mortus sets in, we decide it's time to head home. We begin the journey back with me in the lead position. Our speed tops out at 16 miles per hour. Hair soaring straight back, I switch my position to having my elbows set in their padded aero-bars and get off my hands for a while. There is so much less wind resistance it feels as though I am flying. Before we know it we are home. We eat a simple meal of wild/brown rice, salmon and a salad. We get ready for him to go back to work tomorrow, saddened by the short amount of time we have together. We shower and now are headed off to bed to rest up for another day of quiet.
Tomorrow will no doubt be quieter than today was, since Michael will be gone for most of it. I have told the kids I am not talking and they seem to be fairly happy about it. No one is pushing me to give up this crazy idea. I can't really say I blame them. It's a nice reprieve for all of us.
I know this so far...I am tired of the sound of my own voice. I find myself repeating the same things over and over. Today was about simple pleasures as I tempered every time I opened my mouth, asking "is this really worth saying?" Maybe this habit will stick, and we will all be a little happier.