This morning’s weather is the kind that often falls on Sunday mornings. I used to find myself making the drive up to church, stressed or frustrated or just tired, and all I’d know was that I really didn’t want to spend my morning that way. The sun shining, a gentle breeze, whether crisp and cold or pleasantly warm, I knew the day shouldn’t involve work. A leisurely drive to places I hadn’t yet explored, a cup of coffee and a walk in a peaceful neighborhood, resting on a hammock with a good book. On really cold or rainy days, curled up with a cat, an old blanket, and a bad movie on TV (or another book). A phone call to an old friend in the afternoon. A good church service wasn’t out of the question, so long as it was a choice.
Today has been pleasantly leisurely. It has actually been four months of laid-back Sundays, but today I consciously noted the calm and peace and happiness. sits on my lap, curled up on the blanket to stay warm and because I haven’t been home much lately, and every once in a while she just looks up and stares at me. I can’t tell exactly what she’s thinking, but its somewhere in the happiness-gratitude-love genre. A slice of toasted bread made fresh earlier this week, with a few slices of Havarti, sits next to me. Viggo Mortensen prances about on my TV screen talking to his horse in Hidalgo (where for most of the movie his lips are so horribly chapped that its distracting). There’s a hot mocha on my bedside table atop a stack of books that all beckon to be read (“this afternoon,” I tell them).
After I finish my breakfast, I have plans to clean the tub and finish painting the edging in the bathroom. Then maybe some laundry or taking care of camping supplies or a nap or reading. Who knows. Its a choice I can make later, and I can’t really make the wrong choice.