I don’t know what it is about Sundays that reinvigorates me. On Saturday, most weeks, this week, I mope around the house feeling sorry for myself. Yesterday’s gloom intensified when I scanned my debit card to pay 1/2 of the cost of my new glasses, not quite a thousand bucks most of which pays for the complicated lenses. I bit the bullet and got a better quality of frame this time, since my fifty-dollar spring-hinge variety just falls apart within months. I shrugged and thanked the patient optician who had corralled every size-16-bridge in the place for me to try. As I went back outside, I thought, Geez louize, what I wouldn’t give to be able to buy my 6-up-6-down prismed tri-focals online for less than a C-note.
With that depressing sigh, I took myself back home and read on the porch for a couple of hours, ignoring the laundry piled high in the baskets. About six, I went to the store to get sugar-free ice cream. That’s how bad the day got. Boo, hoo. As I left the store, I ran into a law school class mate who still drives the 1968 British Racing Green MGB that he got in 1979. I stood chatting with him, mourning my own MGMidget. Boo and hoo and hoo. So goes my Saturdays.
But when the dawn comes on Sunday, for some reason I seem to be able to kick that silliness and jump out of bed — or what passes for jumping in a sixty-one-year-old disabled gal. This morning, I dashed downstairs, praised the dog for not peeing on the floor, and started the pour-through, all before 8. I did my stretches before breakfast, ate only one piece of gluten-free toast with my mushroom omelet, and actually put away clean dishes as well as clearing the breakfast mess.
Maybe I just need one day of grousing, even internally, to make this mission work.
It’s the twenty-third day of the thirty-fourth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.
The umbrella maple in the front yard split in two during the great ice storm 14 or 15 years ago. It stands a little lopsided, tall and skinny — definitely misshapen; but rises so far above the house that I can’t get the top 1/3 of its crown with my cell phone camera.
It testifies to the brilliance of resilience.