Posts tagged " alone time "

A Chair of One’s Own

April 3rd, 2016 Posted by Tabula Rasa No Comment yet

The great Virginia Wolfe thought that every woman should have a room of her own, whether it was to think, to write, to paint, to work, or simply breathe.

I spent most of my adult life lucky enough to have more than just one room. Today, I have a chair. On a balcony.

It’s a cheap wooden one, what we call a “director’s chair,” in which I do anything but direct. It’s fabric, a weathered, faded olive green, fighting to not tear under my weight, as if insisting on supporting me, letting me keep this haven of aloneness. It’s rusty bolts protest at my slightest move, but they too remain intact.

It’s a chair of my own because nobody else wants to sit on it, out here in the dark cold. Whoever comes to bother me is stopped by the heavy sliding door, “mommy I want cookies” and “mommy come inside now”, are demands that I hear as the softest whispers. If I could make the chair into a toilet, I’d even get to pee in silence. Alone.

My time here is limited. In the daytime to seconds. After bedtime to minutes, that grow longer as the summer seeps in. It is here that I think, here that I write, here that I smile at the chalk lines of abstract graffiti on the balcony wall. This is my chair, my room, my realm. I’m no director, but I am the queen.


Sunday Funday

March 20th, 2016 Posted by Tabula Rasa No Comment yet

It’s exhilarating, that moment, when after a weekend that seemed so long it may as well have been a rainy summer vacation, that us moms suddenly find ourselves alone. Our lungs suddenly feel invaded by oxygen, we can breathe, there nobody is pulling at us, it’s dark, there is no one to push up the steep slide at the playground, to feed, to wash, to wipe. Our brain slowly shifts into adult mode, and the only voices we hear, are those in our heads. All toys and art materials have been quickly dumped into their boxes, tomorrow’s lunch is in the oven, and all coloring pencils are nobody’s but our own.

On Roadtrips

February 27th, 2016 Posted by Tabula Rasa No Comment yet

Road trips always relaxed me. The sight of the road disappearing under the car, the long stretch ahead. Towns, villages flashing by like mini movies with an unwritten script, trees, meadows, factories, truck rest-stops. People in other cars, I wonder where they’re going, sometimes you see a bike roped to the truck left ajar, kids fighting in the back seat, maybe they’re on their way to their grandparents.

Us, we’re just driving to clear our heads, to be together alone. In the beginning we make small talk, how are you, how’s your partner, your mom, your dog, work and kids. Then we sit in silence, it’s deafening at first, like a forgotten noise, it grows louder and louder until it suddenly disappears, becomes a comfortable silence, and we’re ready. The CD player smoothly swallows our old disc, the playlist starts playing, one of us turns up the volume, we roll down our the windows, and we begin to sing. Each has her favorite song, her favorite lyrics, sometimes we’re not sure what they are, so we improvise. I scream loudest to “Chasing Cars,” my friend to “Crash into Me,” and the other to “Wisemen.”

We reach our destination with hair dos of bad 1980s punk rockers or three women that have stuck wet fingers in sockets, but our cheeks are rosy, we’re high on the abundant countryside oxygen and singing has worked it marvel of stress release.

We used to take these road trips whenever we wanted, never really appreciating them because it’s hard to appreciate what you easily have. Now they happen once or twice a year, and feel like the most precious gift anyone has ever given us. Simple. Real. Free.

Pieces: a novel

“Pieces” is the winner of the silver medal at the 2017 Independent Publishers Awards (IPPY), and a finalist at the USA Best Book Awards and International Book Awards.

When Clouds Embrace: a children's book

All proceeds from the sales of "When Clouds Embrace" will go to Giving for Greece, a foundation that works to help the hundreds of unaccompanied refugee minors in Greece.