Monday night I couldn’t sleep but I don’t think Brian had a clue because I didn’t toss and turn, just tucked myself around a body pillow and stayed put.
When I got home Tuesday evening, I thought of all the things I should do. Two lessons to read and complete for two separate classes; some fall decorations to gather for work as we’re decorating for Friday's big community party; some lists I should make regarding that party; regular-life stuff. And yes, I wanted to tune in to the Democrats’ debate.
While contemplating all of that, my eyes fell on the big, blue bag next to the TV. On Monday, our friend, Gay, stopped by on her way to Indy to visit her daughter. I was at work so her visit barely registered with me, as she chatted with Brian for a while and I missed her completely. But Gay left her calling card in the form of The Bag. It was full of magazines.
One of the many things we have in common is our love for magazines. And through the years, between us we’ve developed a fine recycling system. I save my old ones for her and she saves hers for me. She subscribes to a couple and gets others from her mother, who hands them off to Gay.
I have stopped subscribing to magazines, in favor of borrowing them from the library, but sometimes people give me copies they are done with, and other times, I pick them up at garage or library sales, or I see an issue that I just can’t resist and purchase it from the newsstand.
Once I finish reading Gay’s stash, I hand the issues off to my daughter-in-law, Allison, who also enjoys magazines and then shares them with her mom.
Historically speaking, the flow of this type of reading material is a consistent, but rather complex operation. I get Oprah, Good Housekeeping, Real Simple and More from Gay, and a travel magazine from Gay’s mom, which then will go to Allison, except for the travel magazine that my friend, Cheryl, gets. But my Country Living and other oddball magazines are funneled toward Gay, which then likely go to Gay’s mother.
When my friend, John Hodge, was living, he shared stacks of his sports, news and AARPs with me, and they were then sent into both Gay’s and Allison’s directions, as the proper cases may be.
Still with me?
It occurs that in the past couple of years, I haven’t been pulling my weight in magazines. I don’t have a bag full to share with anyone these days. Instead of reading magazines, I tend to fill most evenings working on my Bible study lessons or projects regarding my books. I also like to slip in a yummy novel or biography into my reading mix.
When I looked at Gay’s bag, filled with top-shelf periodicals that I enjoy so much, I felt a stab of guilt that I had nothing to send back with her. But then, I decided that on such a chilly, beautiful, fall evening I would give myself a respite from my usual self-imposed homework to pursue a favorite pastime. I selected three magazines from the bag, headed for the bathroom, filled the tub with water and lavender froth, then sunk into the hot water. Heaven.
However, it wasn’t long before my sleepless Monday caught up with me and despite the splendid company of choice issues with some particularly exceptional articles at hand, I found myself flat-out asleep, head dropped over, magazine nearly dunked, right there in the tub. I was, however, still gripping the magazine with both hands. Survival instinct of some kind, I suppose.
I woke up, got out, put on jammies and climbed into bed. If I was too tired to read, at least I could surely listen to the debate, and I stretched out sideways across the bed. At 10:30 Brian came in and asked what I thought of the debate.
There was a debate?
I had no idea.