I wish I was able to say by mid-morning, the house had settled into a calm rhythm. Gerald is here with me, but Charlie and Bradley are awake making food before they leave for work. Doing what they need to do for the day. Once they leave it will be quiet, but it’s not empty. There’s a difference I’ve learned to notice more clearly lately.
I need to do a load of dishes to keep the house moving in its usual slow cycle, and a few small things need to be picked up here and there, and the normal rhythm of keeping a home going is still happening in the background. Nothing dramatic, nothing overwhelming, just life unfolding in the simple, steady way it always does.
For me Sundays have a way of feeling like this life is here to stay. Even when there are things to do, even when the day is still full in its own right, there’s a softness to it. A slower pace that doesn’t demand as much urgency. Gerald being here adds a quiet kind of company to the house, not loud or distracting, just present, and it makes the space feel lived in even when everything else is still.
I used to think quiet meant something was missing. If the house wasn’t busy or noisy or full of movement, I would start feeling like I needed to fix it or fill it. I would think something was off if there wasn’t enough happening around me. But over time that has changed.
Now I see a empty house differently and quiet doesn’t mean empty. It just means life is happening somewhere else for a little while. People are working, moving, living their own parts of the day, and the house is simply holding the space in between all of that.
There’s something I’ve started to appreciate about that in a way I didn’t before. The slower pace doesn’t feel like something to push through anymore. It feels like something to sit inside for a bit. The upstairs still needs to be done, and the small chores in Charlie’s room still wait for attention, and the house still has its usual list of things that never fully end, but none of it feels rushed in the same way. It’s just part of the rhythm.
I find myself noticing things I used to overlook. The sound of the house when it’s not competing with noise. The way light shifts through the rooms when no one is moving quickly from one place to another. The small in-between moments that don’t really ask for attention but are still part of the day. Even just sitting here and knowing the house is calm has started to feel like its own kind of balance.
Not every season has to be busy to matter. Not every day has to feel full in the same way to still be meaningful. Some days are loud and fast and overflowing with things that need to be done right away. And some days are like this one, slower and quieter, but still steady and still real. Still life happening exactly as it should.
So for now, I’m not trying to fill the quiet. I’m just letting it be what it is. The house is calm, Gerald is here, and the boys have left for work. The rest of the day will unfold the way it always does. And in its own simple way, that’s enough for me today. How about you?
Thank you,
Glenda, Charlie and David Cates
