Inside Day

It’s a cool windy day with a promise of rain. A good staying inside day. A cold front’s coming. Lows in the 30s, highs in the 40s. A Texas winter. We’re the place where blue northers come to die, victims of the second law of thermodynamics. Don’t bring your arctic air around here. You’ll be balmy in no time. It’s one reason why so many refugees from northern climes live here. The cold air might chase them, but it will surrender in the end.

Mostly I’ll have a day of light housework. A batch of clothes just finished drying. I’ll put them on the bed, fold them, put them away. Pedestrian work, foreign to some or out of reach, anathema to others. Lately, I’ve become aware that the life I’m describing is a particular life, a white, middle class American life. I have more than some, less than others, and I wonder if writing about it is a form of bragging, a way of saying look what I have?

Probably not, it’s just what I know at the moment. But sometimes I feel as though I’m writing about a world unknown to most people, especially those younger than me. I’ve been further down for sure. But looking back, I’ve pretty much always felt I could do better and often did. I don’t know if that world still exists. Given the cost of housing these days, it’s hard to imagine it does. In the end, however, I suppose it gives me something to think about and that’s all I really need these days.