Renewal. . .

It is time to feel my way down to the root hairs. Last year, last January, I took myself to the beach:  cases of books, a tiny stovetop espresso maker, some good knives, soft clothes and a big bag of greens from the garden.  The first week was full of repairmen.  I learned my lesson on another beach retreat, when the checker outer at the rental agency was much more attentive than the checker inner.  I watched my damage deposit evaporate.  This time, my inventory was thorough: slip covers were cleaned, torn blankets replaced, the light over the stove and cable repaired.  It wasn't the foyer to quiet that I anticipated, but it gave me time to sign up at the gym, find the year-round farmer's market and the local coffee shop with wifi and the stoned barefoot barista. 
My only commitment was to get up in the dark and watch the sunrise each morning.  The third-floor beachfront condo faced due East.  I couldn't have missed the sunrise had I wanted to, and each day, even when overcast, I was there.  There were spectacles beyond description, where I ran out of ways to describe pinks and oranges and golds.  There were days when the water seemed laden with smoke; if you were unable to hear the waves, you wouldn't have known you were beachside.  The chill was record-breaking, I heard the comparisons in the check-out lane at the Piggley-Wiggley.  I tried walking, but gave up after inducing repeated earaches, even with a snug headband.  The gym treadmill was a very poor second, but with someone next to me on the elliptical, I had as much social life as I wanted. . .
It took awhile to quiet the voices, the ones that demanded production!  Accountability!  Service to others, you lapsed Presbyterian!  I gave them a chair across the room from my writing table, handed them a coloring book and that seemed to help.   Ever ever so slowly, I began to detect whispers at the bottom of the barrel, in the dark, in the swollen quiet.  Ever ever so slowly, a deeper layer of myself emerged, risked exposure, shyly showed herself in barely discernible outline.  Fragile, newly born.  It took Big Quiet to hold her, to not frighten her away.  Big Quiet, Expansive Time for her to strengthen.
This year, more aware of what it costs those left behind for me to be completely relocated for a month, I am attempting an at-home retreat.  I'll admit skepticism, but am optimistic.  I have about three weeks until I can begin, and then my plan is to re-engage the third week in February. 
I feel starved for this nourishment, after a particularly busy Fall and Early Winter.  I shall report here as I come up with the design, and report out during my "confinement."