Still only in my bathrobe, I go out to the mail/paper box to retrieve the paper. Next, I either make a fresh pot of coffee or microwave a cup from yesterday’s pot (frugal German, right?). I let the dog out . . . then let the dog back in. We settle into our chair and start to leaf through the paper.
I know, I know. I’m an old-man-in-the-morning cliché.
There is something else, though. I also find myself just gazing out the window. Especially this time of year — never missing an opportunity to gaze at the giant red maple on “the backstreet.” It is a colorimeter of sorts, measuring the changing autumn colors. I catch myself, as Robert Fulghum calls, window gazing.
“Window gazing is a feature of solitude — something one does alone. Yet, if you shift your visual focus from out there to what’s right in front of you, it’s clear that you are not alone. The window panes serve as mirrors, reflecting your image as a window gazer.
There you are . . . looking out through yourself .” — Robert Fulghum
Looking out, while through myself. Looking out, while looking in. Reflecting.
So, there I am every morning. Looking out at the world through the tiny window pane that is the morning newspaper. Looking out on our little world that is our neighborhood. Looking out through myself.
It gives me a quiet, thoughtful beginning of my day.
“For thousands of years there was no glass, no windows.” Robert Ringer writes. “And now . . . one of the blessings of the age we live in is this magic clear enabler of those who are inspired by window gazing.”
People like me. Looking out, while looking in. A reflection of an inspired window gazer.
Oh, by the way, Robert Fulghum was wrong about one thing: Window gazing isn’t always a feature of solitude. Sometimes you’re lucky enough to share it with your dog.
Have a wonderful weekend.
Carpe diem,
David Kuhn
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