Waking up
this morning, I was reminded how much I like the sound of rain. Not the pitter
patter of drops against the window, but the other
sound . . . do you know what I mean? There’s a certain low, persistent cadence,
perhaps a collective of the raindrops coursing through the air. A bit of white
noise. I don’t know how better to explain it; I only know I hear it, therefore
it exists, and it soothes me.
This
morning it was particularly noticeable; the house still, just me trying to
sleep in a bit. Tim is away at a training course until this afternoon, so there
was no one breathing quietly and dreaming beside me. I like getting up early
when I’m on my own; Tim’s mum would say something along the lines of not
missing the best part of the day. I’ll admit I was actually disappointed that
it was softly drizzling; I wanted to make coffee and have it in the garden,
having spent a very brief time between returning home from visiting my friend
Kate in Chesham (which was brilliant—beautiful day, great conversation) and
watching the World Cup at 9 pm. Fortunately it was light and warm when I did
get home, and I was able to do a bit of weeding and tidying. And yes, I wanted
to pause and admire my handiwork with a cuppa!
I did open the
French doors to let the air in, and stood in the doorway with my coffee, watching
the rain fall and bounce off the leaves of the awning of rose branches. A few
yellowing tongues from the palm tree near the doors caught my eye, and so
secauters in hand I went out in the light rain and trimmed. And paused. And
barely felt the rain, it was so soft. It was lovely. I walked down the short
path and decided to pluck a rose, drooping heavily with the evening’s rain, to
put in a vase on the table. No one in sight, no noise but that sound of the gentle rain.
Sounds.
Noise. Talk. I’ve been exposed to a lot of chatter about listening of late. It’s
mostly been work related but it has had crossover to life outside the nine to
five. I attended an enlightening workshop given by Dick Mullender,
a former Metropolitan Police officer who spent years in hostage negotiation.
What was wthe key takeaway? You need to listen
(and mostly to the rambling, where key words often emerge) and not ask
questions. The 150+ of us in the room all left with our new Plan B – to be a
hostage negotiator! (Sixteen people got a chance to try out their skills—I didn’t
volunteer—and I think all of them found it tremendously hard.) Shortly after I
was introduced to a book called The
Chimp Paradox. Seriously. In one sentence, the premise is that we all have
an inner chimp, five times faster than our human brain, that we can learn to
nurture and control before it blurts out something embarrassing. Now don’t you
want to read it?
I will.
Because while it’s been a glorious three years married to Mr D, I want to, as I
said to Tim, add a “0” to that. (His response at doing the age calculations
was, well, hopeful!) And even the best relationships need effort to thrive. (You
may have noticed that.) A recent anniversary date found us at the lovely Bleeding Heart Restaurant
to celebrate. I chose the Bleeding Heart because years ago when we were first
courting, we were ambling about the area after having a glass of wine after
work, looking for a place for dinner. Tim suggested the BH, and I’d never been
and am always up for a new experience.
In fact we sat in the same room, near the table
we sat at in 2009 when we conspired over positively wonderful food and wine to
go to Boulogne-sur-Mer the very next day. Decadent of us, but we were carefree and
enjoyed each other’s company, so why not. It was my first trip to France outside
of Paris, and I recall it was a bit chilly—it was February—but sunny and we had
a marvelous time walking and talking and having lunch at Le Welsh Pub. In
fact, I rummaged through my technology to find our first selfie—always ahead of
the curve!
Tim and I
disagree on the order of events, but the dinner and the trip in 2009 did happen
and it is a fond memory for both of us.
Now four
hours later the sun is trying to peek out. I’ve sent birthday wishes to two of
my lovely friends Jill and Taron, eaten breakfast, have read the Telegraph,
watched Andrew Marr, and texted with Mr D to enjoy the rest of his course and
to shout out when he’s close to home. I think, as Anne would say, I have in
fact delighted in the best part of the day, with so much more left to enjoy. And
listen to.
