Annie Dillard wrote, “How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.”

On the first of each month, Catching Days hosts a guest writer in the series, “How We Spend Our Days.”

Today, please welcome writer

ROBERTA S. KURILOFF

I am a dancer at heart. When I turn on music, I can’t sit still. I pick music based on my mood—salsa, waltz, lindy, cha cha, and rock. For both exercise and the pure joy of dancing.

But that’s not how my days start. It’s eight a.m., Wednesday. Sunny morning, nice breeze, a little cloudy. I’m still in bed on the second floor of the house. At the end of the bed, our black six-year-old Covid-saved dog from the South, Ruby, is sleeping on her back with her feet in the air. My half-tired eyes shift around the room towards the whole upstairs.

My home in Maine is surrounded by fifteen acres of woods and fields. In 1984, while living in Connecticut, I personally designed it and then arrived to help build it. The house is called “open concept.” A difficult house to hide in, if one wanted to hide—there are no doors upstairs, except for the bathroom. The upstairs bedroom and office space are open to the downstairs. Looking over the wood railing makes conversation easy.

Now, being retired, I bathe in the luxury of laziness, lying in bed, writing in my journal before greeting the day, especially chronicling the dreams I recalled. My dream life over the years has taught me a lot, especially exploring out of body experiences.

I hear Bernice, my spouse, cooking downstairs. She’s an early bird, making chili soup for lunch. Smells good.

I get dressed and look out the east window across from my bed towards the fields surrounding the house. A treat: two deer and a baby doe. Always a surprise as to what I’ll witness, sometimes racoons or other critters. Two open fields. When it snows, I cross-country ski in the fields.

I move through the bathroom to the den on the west side of the upstairs. Two more window views on that side. The den is my office space, where I usually sit at my desk, or on our small couch, to type or read.  I quickly check the mail still sitting on the desk and leave it for later.

As I walk down the somewhat creaky, carpet-covered wood steps holding the railing, Ruby runs ahead of me. The white and teal green walls in this house are covered with artwork.

Bernice has been up for a while enjoying the quiet downstairs—eating breakfast and reading.  She’s also retired. Bernice leashes Ruby while I pocket dog treats for a walk.

Ruby and I trot down our dirt road, which is surrounded by blueberry fields, to the main paved road. It’s about a mile each way. When I first moved here, there were no houses on that road. Now it has come alive with about seven homes, some set back in the woods, and unhappily, more cars driving by. Now and then I see deer. Once, a moose.

After my favorite breakfast of fruit and yogurt, I read the news or watch it on TV. I have a need to know what’s happening in the world. I’m a crier, especially as I’ve aged. I weep easily at the horrors of our world. I inherited that from my father. We’d sit and talk about politics and his experiences growing up in Russia, and we’d cry together.

I return to my upstairs desk to write for an hour or two. I’m working on some short stories and articles. Sometimes I write on the couch late at night when the house is quiet. I’m more relaxed and settled at night.

In the afternoons when Ruby goes to daycare to play with her friends, Bernice and I enjoy trips out and about. Today we’re meeting a friend for lunch. When Ruby is not around, we dance together. If Ruby is around, she feels left out and jumps on us. Bernice and I met at a party; dancing connects us.

Bernice makes my favorite dinner: salmon, sweet potato and side salad, and now in summer, corn on the cob. She’s the cook. I’m terrible at cooking, unless it’s something simple. We watch the news and TV and relax.

At nine p.m. I’m lying on the couch by myself and writing. When my mind wanders, something that happens a lot, I look around at the many books I have and pick up one I hope will inspire me to charge my tired brain. Tonight I choose A Treasury of Poems. I take a few words from a poem and then write my own poems, which sometimes turn into a story.

I also write in my journal—number thirty-six. I’ve been journaling since I received a small pink, empty diary from a cousin when I was thirteen, having just moved back to living with my father after residing for five years in an orphanage after my mother died of cancer. This past year I survived a bout of cancer.

I love the peacefulness and quiet of the night. With the windows now open, I enjoy the sound of the wind brushing through the trees.  Sometimes when I’m not tired, I dance and exercise in the quiet, while Bernice and Ruby sleep, something I used to do when living alone. Now, not so tired, I shut off the lights, except for the outdoor light, and see myself stretching and slowly moving in the big windows facing the outdoors. I’m now at peace, centered, and ready to sleep, dream, and hopefully write again tomorrow.

~

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NOT THOSE SAME 3 QUESTIONS…

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1. What one word best describes your writing life?

• Joy.

2. Is there a book you read over and over again?

• Still Here: Embracing Aging, Changing, and Dying by Ram Dass.

3. What is your strangest obsession or habit?

• Dancing—for fun and exercise.

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By ROBERTA S. KURILOFF

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—Other Writers in the Series—