Above is a photograph of Christine floating in the pond. You would never know she is seven months pregnant-- this woman is cruising around New England with the energy of five ten-year olds-- she inspires me to no end, but I was very glad to see her get some deep relaxing into her schedule, too.
Today is Sunday and oh my, what a beauty. Blue sky, soft breeze, brunch by the river on the radio and me dancing around the apartment, enjoying coffee and getting laundry running. I'm about to take the dogs for a long, leisurely walk and I just have to stop and say-- what the heck? How did Sunday come to be one of my all-time favorite days of the week?
Once upon a time, Sundays felt like a millstone around my neck. It was much too close to Monday (which meant back to the grindstone) and I would wake up filled with a sense of remorse for ALL that I did not get done over the weekend when I had spent the whole week thinking about ALL I was going to do once the weekend arrived.
Blah-- how glad am I to have that loop gone from my life?
As it happens, in my new digs there is a whole new routine to my life. Part of the deal of living here is to be around the farm on Sunday so that the managers (who work six days a week) can get off the premises and play. I am more than happy to do this and oddly, instead of being some kind of restriction, it has given my week a most beautiful anchor and structure that I love.
Sundays now are the day I clean the apartment. For most of you, that would not be a whole day focus, but for me it is. I am rather a dawdler when it comes to cleaning. I get up, drink coffee, take my breakfast outside and sit under the apple tree where I eat in between tossing small green apples for Daisy to fetch.
Back upstairs, I start some laundry, gather up all the vases of spent flowers and prep for a new bunch of fresh cuttings that I will gather today. When I get back from my walk, I'll clean all the surfaces, vac and wash the floors and sweep the porch. Sounds like so much work, doesn't it? That's what is so weird. Since it is the only day of the week I do this, I sink into it and, oddest of all, I like it. It pleases me.
Weird weird weird.
And then? The house is clean, the dogs are walked, fresh laundry graces the bed, the table, my drawers and it is only midday. So if the weather is lovely, as it has been, I put on my bathing suit and walk up to the pond where I hang out waiting for a glimpse of the blue heron who likes to hang out there, too.
Sunday-- who knew you could be so sweet?