I'm Dreaming of A Home Office...

My house has turned into one big office this week. My son is visiting, and he works from home all the time, while Jim and I both work at home at least 50% of the time, so my little house is bursting with business. This has set me dreaming about setting up a real home office, as opposed to the dining room table, kitchen table, and small desk shoved in the corner of the guest room. So, in between writing my medical reports, I cyber trekked over to Furniture From Home office department. Within two seconds I had picked out the perfect credenza desk for Jim, one I would love to prop my feet up on as well.

Of course I couldn't resist shopping for some living room and bedroom furniture on this site, which offers a world of lovely pieces organized in nicely appointed virtual rooms.

Now, if I could only get a raise...

A Day of Rest

Once upon a time, Sundays were simple. Perhaps you rose early and went to church, spending a quiet hour in worship and reflection, or perhaps you slept late, waking to savor the newspaper and ponder crossword puzzle clues. In the afternoon, you might take a nap or prepare a special dinner, visit with family or take a drive in the country. There were very few stores open, so shopping was not an option. Nearly all places of business were closed, employees expected to spend the day resting and enjoying time with their families. Does that sound too idyllic to be true? It really wasn't - that was how I spent Sundays as a child.

Not anymore. Too often, my Sunday's are a marathon of activity, leaving me to face another work week exhausted, irritable, and unsatisfied.

Today, for instance. It's a concert day for Jim and his men's chorus, a bigger than usual concert involving three other choirs. His call time was 1:00, so after church (from which we snuck out early since the service ran over the allotted 60 minutes we Presbyterians can tolerate) we dashed home and I whipped up an omelet and some strong coffee while he changed into his concert attire. While he ate, I packed dinner for him, since their dinner break between rehearsal and performance is expected to be minimal.

When he was safely out the door, I drove to my mother's where Brian and Nantana were joining her for brunch. I downed another cup of coffee, and then the four of us (plus dogs) drove over to visit my aunt and uncle. Not an uplifting visit (as their health continues to decline and it's difficult to watch) but certainly one that was required. After an hour with them (which feels much longer) I dropped the dogs at home and made a quick run to the grocery.

It's now nearly 4:30. Since I promised Jim I would attend his concert tonight, I have about 90 minutes to prepare some dinner, change clothes, and drive 30 miles to Eastern Michigan University in time for a 7:00 program.

Whew.

I've just been sitting on my back porch, stealing a moment to admire a brilliant blue sky, and trees absolutely ablaze with scarlet and gold, feeling a warm sun on my face and a brisk wind in my hair. Breathing deeply, slowing myself down just a bit, allowing my heart to return to that restful state Sunday's should be about. In all honesty, I would love nothing more than to pour a glass of wine, prop my feet up on the table and take a nap in the sun.

I would especially love to do that without feeling guilty about it.

We need one day a week, I think, to throttle back, rein in, take foot firmly off the gas pedal. A day when we're not only allowed to slow down life's pace, but expected and encouraged to.

A day of rest.

What a novel idea.

Book Blocked

There's something a bit off in one of my most treasured relationships. I can't describe it, but lately we haven't been connecting at all. We sit down together as we always have, but somehow don't engage. My mind wanders, and before long I'm thinking about my "to do" list, or the grocery shopping, or worrying over a tough passage in a Mozart Sonata. Several times, I've been forced to simply walk away. Books and I aren't getting along well. Don't laugh- reading is a relationship with me. I count on the fictional world to help me escape from the dreary real world and entertain me with the antics of interesting characters. I expect poetry to elevate my senses, soothe my spirit, ignite my intellect. I come to non-fiction to inspire my muse and feed my creativity. Lately, none of this has been happening with any of my books. My book journal for the month of October is completely bare ~I've finished nothing. However, here's what I've started and put aside in the last two weeks~The Lay of the Land, Still Summer, Keeping the World Away, Body Surfing, and The Jane Austen Book Club. These may be perfectly fine books, but every time I sat down to read I kept losing my place in the middle of a page, or going back to re-read the last three paragraphs because my mind hadn't registered a thing. Finally, disappointed in the book (and in myself) I placed each one back in the "to be returned" pile of my library stack. I don't take my relationships lightly, and the one I have with books is no exception. Giving up on one is hard. There was a point in my reading life when I refused to do it, and would struggle through most anything until the end. Now, though, there really are simply too many books and too little time. If a book and I aren't enjoying one another after about 50 pages, we part company. But it doesn't happen often, certainly not with five books in a row as it has this month. I suppose reading relationships go throught difficult periods like human relationships. Sometimes we simply fail to give each other what is needed. For whatever reason, we don't find the sustenance, the comfort, the insight that's required. But during those strained times, there is definitely something missing from life, and I feel bereft and lonely. Today, I'm off to the library to bring home a new collection of possibilites. Wish me luck.

How about you? How are things in your reading life?

Friday Feast

AppetizerIf you were a dog, what breed would you be, and why? Probably a border collie, because I always seem to be running around trying to keep all my sheep in line! Soup What does the color purple make you think of? Royalty. The majestic purple of velvet robes worn by queens and monarchs. Also eggplant, which I love to eat deep fried or baked in marinara sauce and Parmesan cheese.

Salad Approximately how long does it take you to get ready each morning? About 45 minutes. It takes longest to blow dry my hair and try and tame those natural waves into the smooth page boy I prefer. Main Course How many cousins do you have, and are you close to them? I have more cousins than I can count, oddly enough. Most of them are of the second, third, and otherwise "removed" variety and are scattered all over the country. I do have three or four first cousins that I grew up with here in Detroit, and we were close as children. But as it the way of the world, now that we're grown up we never see each other.

Dessert Take your initials (first, middle, last) and come up with something else those letters could stand for. (Example: SFO = Sweet Funny Otter) Reflective Maternal Reader here are more feasts

Poetry Thursday

I took my sorrow and placed it firmly into a paper sackthe kind you get at very good grocery stores a heavy one with wire wrapped handles I knew it must be hidden so I wouldn't be tempted to take it out every so often and fondle it worry it between the fingers of my heart like those beads Indian women use to pray I carried the bag by the handles hoping I wouldn't hear the sorrow rattling around inside bumping against the confines of its paper prison searching for its own escape from darkness Into the garage I carried it my eyes searching furtively for the perfect spot like a dog who needs to bury a bone a place where I could retrieve it if I must (but not to easily) There, behind a box of Christmas lights, used only rarely now or no, on the shelf next to the catcher's mitt and car wash bucket perhaps in the old fruit cellar the warped wooden door shoved up against it Panic rises, for there seems no safe place so I stand holding this bag of sorrow, my palms moist on its handles finally knowing it won't be hidden.

~~~~~~~~~~~

When I was a young woman, I allowed sorrows to consume me. If I were sad, or worried, or upset, I couldn't eat or sleep...I curled myself tightly into a ball and let life pass me by until I felt able to move forward again. As I've aged, I've become more adept at compartmentalizing sorrow. It's not completely hidden, it's not ignored, it's simply set aside in a secret place, so that I can go on with life.

Thank you all for your kind comments and all the positive thoughts you've sent our way this week.

It helps more than you know :)