The Reset
It is the end of a long day. As I move quietly into the bedroom, careful not to wake my wife, I part open the curtains so that tomorrow morning, the dawn’s light will team up with the 6:30am buzzer’s battle against the ‘oh-so-powerful’ grip of Mr. Sandman.
I walk to my side of the bed and sit for a moment, looking over into the hallway where Ciena and Lola (our golden retriever and labrador/demon mix) finally lay peacefully in their respective cots. Ciena exhales softly and I hear her yawn, no doubt worn out after an equally long day of cat-chasing and foiled escape attempts from the backyard.
From across the hall, I hear the faint chirping of a calendar alert coming from the computer in my office; a reminder about something happening in the next 12 hours. I try to recall what that might be, but for the moment it escapes me. Instead, I go through my mental checklist… back door: locked; aquarium lights: off; dogs: fed; alarm: set; what was I forgetting? Oh yeah, bedroom curtains: open.
It was at that moment that I realized that there was a quiet kind of satisfaction to this routine. A sort of ‘reset’ that I went through every night, where things were put back into place, alarms were figuratively re-wound, and all was returned to its original position… ready for a new day.
As I lay down and pull the covers over me, I smile; musing over how such little things can be translated subconsciously into that sense of accomplishment. I reach over, snap off the light that sits on the nightstand next to me, gently kissed my wife goodnight and doze off to the not-so-gentle sounds of Lola’s canine, yet surprisingly ’40-year-old-and-overweight-man-like’ snoring… ready, just like all those little things I had just ‘reset’, for a new day.
- the paw.
