I used to always get the blues on Sundays. Sundays are the end of a fun weekend, a deflated balloon of joy. In my minds eye everyone is having cozy family dinners together while I’m home alone, and worst of all, work resumes the next morning, therefore all night I worry.
This summer has put me in a different mindset. The weekend feeling is endless. I have lost the Monday morning dread and can now sleep soundly tonight. My own Sunday dinner with myself, and an ever hopeful cat, is a bit of personal time, especially with the company of an Agatha Christie mystery on PBS. Most importantly, I have a list of things to do that I look forward to in the coming the week.
Tonight, here in the frigid grey city of summer fog and mist, the purple hour has blanched to more shades of grey than a night scene in an old movie. The little stained glass lamps scattered throughout The Roost are glowing merrily like jewels. The silver radiator in the corner is hissing away and the cat is stretched right in front of it with his whiskers perilously close to singeing. Soon he will stagger up and visit me to have his hot face scratched about the chin. The crock pot, now that I have remembered to switch it on, is slowly concentrating its contents into a rich and savory stock for next week’s soup for lunches and breakfasts. I have donned a favorite lounging sweater and new socks knitted from the coveted summer sock club. Soon, I will pour the last glass of wine, my (current) favorite Black Pearl; inky, dark and spicy. After I finish torturing myself with the aromas eminating from the kitchen I will make my little supper.
Tonight I am going to feast on marinated Kobe style sukiyaki-sliced beef, quickly seared, and baby eggplants dipped in togarashi, sauteed until meltingly tender and glazed in mirin.
Soon, “Mrs. McGinty’s Dead” will start and I will ignore all other interests, except for perhaps the secret project I am knitting for a friend’s birthday in a week.
Tomorrow I get to continue to search for my next work adventure (Part 87) and visit the nice people at the bank and post office. I have confirmed dates to see an old friend on leave from Afghanistan, have coffee with a gal pal and, on another day, coffee with a new friend. Hopefully I will have a belated birthday glass of champagne with a dear friend at an ancient San Francisco landmark, and perhaps have “a date with Jack”. For those of you unfamiliar with Jack, he is my beloved emerald green vacuum; super lightweight, HEPA filtered and very strong and silent, just like a Jack should be. If only he could mix a Manhattan!
Finding happiness in such simple, mundane things is a trick of the brain, a reframing of the now, being present and appreciating the little moments that meld into the life stream.
It’s not a grand life. I am not where I should be, I am not making a difference or doing all the things I felt I should be doing by now. By reframing these feelings I hope to be adding to the world instead of taking from it, adding to the value of me, replenishing my psychic battery and, in turn, gracefully gliding along the path to whatever is in store for me next. It is a step in a good direction. I feel happier than on past Sundays and it’s all handcrafted by hal.