It’s Saturday morning and I am sitting outside at one of the tables in the backyard of my mother’s house with my mother and one of my sisters drinking our first cups of morning coffee.  The birds are chirping and gurgling emanates from the pond’s fountain where the occasional fish comes up for a bite and goes back under the water with a swish of a tail fin and a plopping of the water.

As we sit, a light rain begins to fall adding to the ambiance.  It makes the morning seem even more peaceful as it adds another layer of sound to our discussions.  The rain doesn’t drive us inside.  It is light and we are sitting at the table which is under a tree.  Here, the rain doesn’t touch us.

We talk about dreams we had, if there were any, how we slept, and if we think it’s still too early and have decided to go back to bed.  We also talk about what we are going to do for the day.  Are they doing something I might like to join them in or am I doing something that one of them might like to do with me?  Right now, it’s just talk.  We have no plans of moving anytime soon.

I am with my Kindle, writing and trying to talk at the same time.  It’s really impossible to do both.  Bits of conversation float in but not everything that has been said is there as my attention moves from Kindle to conversation and back to the Kindle.  My mother and sister become frustrated at having to repeat bits and pieces of what they’ve said.  I become frustrated too at having to ask them to do this so I put my Kindle away and join fully in the conversation.

 

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