Listen up!

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.