In the dark

I'm often the last person to go to bed at our house.  I have a ritual of checking that any doors to the outside are locked and secure.  Three of the four doors can be checked by just looking at them - the deadbolt switch is big and easy to see.  The front door requires a key to lock.  The only way to really know if this door is locked is to try twisting the key or opening the door.  By the time I'm checking doors, we've typically been home and settled in for a while.  The boys are tucked in bed and most of the lights have been shut off.  The house is assumed to be locked up tight.  My little door checking routine might seem unnecessary except that every now and then I find one unlocked.  It's almost always the front door, the one that can't be visually checked.

I'm usually the last one up because I'm watching something on the television.  I wish I could say that I only watch good TV like biographies and documentaries and nature stuff, but that would be untrue.  In fact, I'm more likely watching something less educational.  I can watch the educational stuff when the boys are up - you know, to set a good example.  No, after the news, I usually flip between late night hosts and maybe a retread action movie or two.  I don't watch very long but I seem to need a dose of tripe at the end of the day to purge my mind.

My path from the couch takes me past the three doors that I don't need to be near to check.  The fourth door, the one I need to physically touch, is completely out of the way - it's always a special trip, I'm never just passing by.  As I'm passing through the house, I'm also switching off any lights that are still on.  By the time I get to the front door, all the lights are usually off and I must cross the living room in the dark to get upstairs.

Now, I could leave the dining room light on until I returned from the front door.  I could avoid having to feel my way through a darkened room.  I could.  But, I kind of like the challenge.  I like that moment when your eyes adjust to the darkness and you realize it is not all blackness.  Our house, so familiar after eighteen years, is less so in the dark.  Walls and doorways spring up a foot or two from where I expect them.

I'm often gathering and analyzing data at work.  I've learned that there are times when you can be too precise with your measurements and too fine with the granularity.  You can get so lost in the minute details that you fail to see the bigger picture - like looking at the ripples on the edge of a tidal wave.  The darkness acts a filter for me when I look around our home.  As I head upstairs, I look to the right and see a dark blob.  That's B in his bed.  Ahead, another blob.  That's N.  I turn to the left and enter the bedroom where I find A, asleep.  It is reassuring to know that even in the darkness, especially in the darkness, I can find the things that matter.