So tonight, Harriet and her sister dropped by for a visit. They had tried twice already today to drop in -- the first time during dinner and the second as my sis and I were getting ready to drive my visiting mom back to her apartment complex. (Mom no longer drives) The third time they rang the doorbell, I felt I had to let them in since they had been so persistent despite the fact that I was tired from entertaining my mom and making a big meal for dinner (beef enchiladas and Spanish rice). Harriet and her sister took in the changes we'd made to the house since their last visit, including the addition of a lovely blue wingback chair we found at a garage sale. They ended up in my den in search of the chair that had once occupied the wingback's spot in the living room and their eyes were drawn to something they'd never noticed before, something which sits high on a shelf to indicate the high esteem in which I hold it -- my drums. Back when I was more of a hippie chick than I am now (for it's really something you never lose), I loved my drums more than just about anything. Many nights were spent sitting lotus style on the floor as I pounded out some rhythms in meditative contemplation. I've not really touched my drums in quite some time -- mostly because until this summer I'd been living in apartments and wasn't sure my neighbors were up to my solo drum circles. Harriet and her sis, of course, immediately were fascinated by the drums and asked if they could play them. Thinking to the glee I would have felt at their age to get the chance to play drums like those, I handed them over with the stipulation that they play gently. Within seconds, Harriet had a great tribal rhythm going while her sister fell into a noodle dance. Despite the noise, it gave me several seconds of peace not having to answer their endless questions -- until Harriet remembered that she'd once had Rice Krispie Treats here and stopped to ask if I might still have some. After going through a list of their desired treats that I did not have in the house (Rice Krispie Treats, ice cream, cookies), we settled on some popsicles and they were content to be on their merry way home.
After they were gone, I carefully and lovingly replaced my drums to their spot on top of my bookcase, but this time with the promise that we'd spend a little quality time together in the near future. Maybe THAT'S the cure to get out all my Sarah Palin frustrations!