I have been under attack by business.
(N.B. I am not and have no desire to be one of nature’s natural accountants.
Spreadsheets & columns of figures & ledgers & I Do Not Get On.
This is the natural order of things & the way I wish it to remain.)
I’ve always been a Life Of The Mind Person, but of late, My Life Of The Mind has been besieged by tasks and projects I wish would just Go Away.
(Dare I say Bugger Off?
Yep. Bugger Off!)
So – I turned yesterday, (and I’m not quite so certain just how I accomplished this – though I’m hoping to remember), into an Ordinary Day.
Blessed things, Ordinary Days.
I moved slow.
I made dinner early in the afternoon, loading the slow cooker with chunks of chicken browned in olive oil and cilantro, hunks of sweet potato, black beans, salsa, spices, chicken stock. Switched it to low, and allowed it to get on with it.
I filled the washer. I filled the mini washer. (Have I told you we have a mini washer? I’ll post about it later. It’s a lovely thing, perfect for tiny loads – such as the handful of my favorite softer than soft around the house clothes. It sits beneath the big washer and both of them can be ran at the same time!
Yes this impresses me more than it should, but there you are.)
I folded clothes: towels and sheets mostly, washcloths, piles of underwear, the inevitable tangle of unmatched socks. Laundry is something I do a great deal of, but yesterday I folded all of it slowly. Yesterday I only folded laundry; as I folded laundry.
No multi tasking allowed. Transforming it into an entirely different and almost enjoyable experience.
taking a large tray I filled it with all the myriad of tiny, mismatched items which have been living in the middle drawer of the roll top desk for years. Some for twenty years, (seriously.) I made tea, took the tray and a large wicker bin where I stow “things to keep”, (such as birthday and Christmas lists, odd notes, articles to save, (or better yet toss out!), gift tags, lists and sketches and drawings), into the family room, switched on (the second episode of the second season of), Homefires, and began to watch, sip, and sort.
Cade built a fire, (as I’m not to lift anything heavy yet), and I watched it burn.
I took the dogs out, mused over my latest library stack of books, made a few notes about upcoming Hygge Box themes, (and firmly pushed the mean woman who hated our Hygge Box because, evidently, it wasn’t as posh as she’d hoped, right outta my mind.
Do I want my hygge to be posh?
I switched the laundry several times, wandered upstairs in search of blank china and my porcelain paint – attacked said china and finished off a few pieces quite nicely. (They are now curing and will be baked tonight. Maybe tomorrow.)
I took the dogs out again. I began to watch the news, remembered there is nothing whatsoever hygge about watching the news and stopped. Instead I read some of an old John Bellaire’s book which my oldest son used to love while eating marshmallow mateys from a large mug with the heating pad pressed up against my back and four dogs – positively certain marshmallow mateys are their very most favorite food in all the world – watched every bite I took.
I may or may not have dropped a few mateys on the floor. I certainly passed dog biscuits around to every canine in sight.
I stared at my WIP, writing absolutely nothing. I stared at a second WIP and made a few notes. I actually managed to find an empty laundry basket, (this is a miraculous happening. I think it even had one handle left!), and tossed in a few of the things I’m planning to take along on our upcoming beach trip.
I checked out my “Things To Take To The Beach” list and realized I have absolutely no farging idea how to spell dramamine.
(But google does.)
I let Ellie, the giant white German Shepherd escape artist dog who simply will not stay in the back yard in the front door when she knocked.
(Which she does by scratching and whining. Our basset hound Hank did the same years ago whenever he managed to escape, though he actually knocked and only went walk about a few times a year at most.
Ellie escapes constantly and is slowly turning our front door to shredded wheat.)
Eventually other people who hadn’t been home all day trooped in and we ate Latin Chicken from the slow cooker, (the sweet potatoes are the best part.)
Later, I took a shower, put on a very un-posh flannel nightgown covered with tiny Tweety Birds, and may or may not have had a bowl of vanilla frozen yogurt with caramel sauce and Himalayan pink salt as we hung out, looked at the fire and one another, and made plans.
And now it’s today.
Which I’m hoping is extraordinarily ordinary.