To Nap To
November 10, 2008
A houseful of people met me that Saturday afternoon with a warmth that I wanted to crawl into like a fleece blanket.
There was the left-of-center plunking her thick fingers across a keyboard and friendly faces of loved ones made comfortable by the deep, leather couch that comfortably swallowed every ounce of their bodies. The carefully and freshly baked pies made by Ashley and her mom drew my attention per usual. Even brownies pale in the presence of a well baked apple-berry pie. I loitered there with Emily for a long time, adjusting my body in accordance to the amount of pie I wished to consume.
Just behind the couch and aspiring keyboardist was a set of french doors overlooking a waterfall pond that had been built early last spring. The gray sky- a forewarning of winter's arrival- reflected into the pond making the water dark. Voices, very familiar and loving voices, flooded this comfortable space. Ten or eleven of us smooshed onto that couch which comfortably sat seven. Paul's knee and my apple cider became one multiple times but we all laughed, the drummer and the soundboard and the thespian snuggling into each other for a few hours before the guitar came out and voices carried in harmonies.
"This is my favorite," Kelly told me. "This is my favorite napping atmosphere. There is something so comforting about napping upstairs with voices like these carrying on. It's like a friendly white noise."
I remember Molly, a friend from several years ago, repeating something similar: the superior comfort of being in a house full of loved ones. She spoke of the home she grew up in- a house worn down by stiletto heels and the thousands of people who entered and exited through that front door.
I want to bottle that comfort up- to put on my ipod the sound of familiarity singing hymns in harmony for when I need to sleep. For when I need comfort and re-assurance. To nap to.