I’m laying in bed trying to drift off to sleep, my never-ending to do list and worries from the day swirling around my head. Wind from the ceiling fan glides over me, and my mind reaches out to grasp the sound of the spinning fan blades. I close my eyes and I am transported back to the double bed in my grandparents’ home. I am not a 38 year old mom of five. I am 12, and I feel it all the way in my bones as the gentle breeze from the guest bedroom fan brushes across my face, the rhythmic whirling soothing me towards slumber.
I can feel the green and pink floral comforter enveloping me as I hear a low croaking sound, the tree frogs often finding their way up the brown and tan brick right outside of the window. Off in the distance, there is the deep hum of a boat moving across the lake, someone enjoying the tranquility of a night fishing trip.
I think of the morning that will follow, my little brother and I sitting on barstools at the kitchen counter as we eat our cereal out of pink plastic bowls, listening to our grandma solving the crossword puzzle in the morning paper, her glasses perched on her nose. She would then read the obituaries aloud to our grandpa, a habit I found morbid. We would certainly have a full day planned, with a trip to the beach or to a historical site nearby.
I drift into evening, and listen to Grandma discussing everything from politics to pop culture in her eloquent, soothing voice, as she and Grandpa prepare a homecooked meal. The excitement of the day still hangs in the air as we gather around the kitchen table, supper never complete without my Grandpa’s homemade biscuits smothered in butter and grape jelly.
Grandpa would inevitably fall asleep watching Jeopardy, and that was our signal that night was approaching. As he took himself off to bed, Grandma set out bowls and spoons and a tub of butter pecan ice cream. I could taste the ice cream, and snapped back to reality momentarily, as I wondered why I had never bought butter pecan myself. I quickly close my eyes again, not ready to leave Grandma’s kitchen.
We slowly enjoy our treat, then off to bed I go, the wooden door making a “whoosh” sound as it glides gently across the thick carpet and closes behind me. I read my book for as long as my eyes can stand, curled up snugly beneath the covers. Eventually I turn off the lamp, finding myself in comforting darkness, listening to the tree frogs croaking nearby, the boat humming on the lake, and the swirling fan with it’s calming wind brushing over my face, drifting… drifting…
