Ben Shahn: Untitled (Cherry Street, New York City) (1933-1935)

"…napping fitfully."

The Muse and I returned from our latest toodle to enter into BetweenTimes. We sufficiently disrupted the rhythms that ruled our schedules before we left that we could not merely slip back under their influence. The cats distrust us now, with Max the most vocal. He refuses to leave my side, crying whenever I slip into an adjoining room or outside for a minute. He shows up frantic, seeming to plead for my continued presence. Molly shows her displeasure in other ways but also seems flummoxed, though no more flummoxed than The Muse and I seem.

The convenience of being in one place for an extended time seemed most attractive when we were travelling. The country seems, if not exactly a food desert, more like a food isthmus, with limited options that mostly sum to boring sameness—burgers, fries, burgers, fries, followed by even more of even more of the same. We sought inconvenience to disrupt the boredom inherent in any easy-on, easy-off arrangement. We sought to experience the places we passed through rather than merely pass by them. We ached for history lessons more than we ached for convenience.

We arrived in a place where we already understand the history. There's little novelty near home. We traded continual discovery for a period of recovery and time zone stability. A sense of timelessness settles into a traveller when their usual cues get disrupted. Meal times become relative. Exercise schedules interrupted. So much gets placed on hold once we leave home; we become ghosts with little substance. We'd come and go without fanfare. We'd arrive to find the reservation The Muse had made moments before waiting for our arrival. We'd fade into and back out of existence, sometimes catching glimpses of ourselves heading the other direction in our rear-view mirrors.

Home seems hollow in comparison, however heartfelt our arrival might seem. I felt filled with renewed energy on my first day back, while The Muse desperately needed a long nap with a cat clinging close. By my second day, my system suffered from disorientation, so it was my turn to laze around aimlessly. I managed a couple of errands, one of which even proved successful. I wanted nothing more than to be left alone. I couldn't quite stand to be in my own presence. I lost connection to the news during our absence, and I feel no strong compulsion to reconnect. I'm listening to a nostalgic audiobook instead. I am in my head more than in the world in this moment. I might be withdrawing from an uproar addiction. I feel no need to have headlines scream at me.

A time will emerge from this period of relative nothingness. It takes longer to return than it ever takes to head out. Within minutes of beginning our recently ended excursion, we felt gone, and we found the sensation refreshing. Within minutes of returning, the cats started stalking us, seemingly expecting something from us. Food didn't seem to satisfy them then. They probably just wanted proximity and reassurance, the same stuff we all want. I will doubtless become the master of my place in this world again, though maybe not today. I feel too much uncertainty to immediately resettle back into my complacency again. Until then, I expect to be living BetweenTimes, neither here nor there or anywhere, really, napping fitfully.

©2025 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #FollowingChapters, #PureSchmaltz