Everyone has less productive days. They provide a pause, a respite. They remind you that in life, you needn't always go forward. Indeed, you don't always have to be moving, period.
Today was one such day. Ed had proposed taking the kayaks out. Then he proposed an excursion. Finally he suggested a 30 minute tennis game.
We did none of it.
Sure, I did clean the farmhouse. So thoroughly that Ed commented that he'd never heard the vacuum run for so long.
And I cooked dinner. And it was a good dinner.
In between? I sat at the kitchen table and studied shoes and socks at Zappos.com -- ones I perhaps should buy, ones that I see others did buy, leaving behind many stars and accolades, but ones I did not buy because, well, I try hard not to spend money. You should resist impulsive buying on gray days and on any days of February, because these are the times when you're not thinking straight. Buying is just a stand in for the absence of sunshine and warm air.
Let me recognize the finer moment of the day. Breakfast -- with the dahlias from yesterday's market. They looked better yesterday that they did today, but on the other hand they look better today than they'll look tomorrow. Some flowers have a very fleeting yet profound beauty.
I stepped outside for only a minute -- to give the cheepers some bread. I did find this little vignette to be rather pretty. Who said October is a month bereft of flowers?
Now let's roll straight to the evening.
Perhaps one of the most heartwarming details of this day came with Snowdrop's joyous run toward the farmhouse. Here she is, arriving.
My daughter says that at home, Snowdrop routinely sets the table for dinner. I test this idea.
Yes, so true! She is an enthusiastic helper.
(Very happy after a job well done.)
Dinner. Ah-ah cannot tear himself away from the news show. We wait... but we tell Snowdrop to dig in.
She does. Pasta with fennel and tomatoes and shrimp. So many of her favorites, all on one plate.
Oh, but it's a good evening! After dinner, I do not return to my idle browsing of woolen socks, of boots, of slippers. I'll leave that for another day, another month or year. Right now I see the skies are clearing, the stars are poking through. I have the promise of a sunny day tomorrow. And a good bit of Snowdrop in my waking hours. That's plenty warm for me.
Today was one such day. Ed had proposed taking the kayaks out. Then he proposed an excursion. Finally he suggested a 30 minute tennis game.
We did none of it.
Sure, I did clean the farmhouse. So thoroughly that Ed commented that he'd never heard the vacuum run for so long.
And I cooked dinner. And it was a good dinner.
In between? I sat at the kitchen table and studied shoes and socks at Zappos.com -- ones I perhaps should buy, ones that I see others did buy, leaving behind many stars and accolades, but ones I did not buy because, well, I try hard not to spend money. You should resist impulsive buying on gray days and on any days of February, because these are the times when you're not thinking straight. Buying is just a stand in for the absence of sunshine and warm air.
Let me recognize the finer moment of the day. Breakfast -- with the dahlias from yesterday's market. They looked better yesterday that they did today, but on the other hand they look better today than they'll look tomorrow. Some flowers have a very fleeting yet profound beauty.
I stepped outside for only a minute -- to give the cheepers some bread. I did find this little vignette to be rather pretty. Who said October is a month bereft of flowers?
Now let's roll straight to the evening.
Perhaps one of the most heartwarming details of this day came with Snowdrop's joyous run toward the farmhouse. Here she is, arriving.
My daughter says that at home, Snowdrop routinely sets the table for dinner. I test this idea.
Yes, so true! She is an enthusiastic helper.
(Very happy after a job well done.)
Dinner. Ah-ah cannot tear himself away from the news show. We wait... but we tell Snowdrop to dig in.
She does. Pasta with fennel and tomatoes and shrimp. So many of her favorites, all on one plate.
Oh, but it's a good evening! After dinner, I do not return to my idle browsing of woolen socks, of boots, of slippers. I'll leave that for another day, another month or year. Right now I see the skies are clearing, the stars are poking through. I have the promise of a sunny day tomorrow. And a good bit of Snowdrop in my waking hours. That's plenty warm for me.
