The first day of the week

I have never understood those calendars which start the week with Monday. I can accept that some faiths consider Saturday to be the Sabbath; and some believe that the Sabbath falls on Sunday.  But our work week starts on Monday and I’m not conceding that work constitutes life.

So I have arrived at the start of my week.  The holiday has come to a close.  The little black Kia pulled out of the driveway.  Dishes stand in the sink; the remains of a hastily assembled breakfast shared with my son.  Truth told, I still have not cleaned the cast-iron pans from yesterday’s brunch.  They can wait.

In the coming week, I will start the last month of my second year of striving to live complaint-free.  On Friday, my office suite will have its Holiday Open House.  The weather folks predict more ice.  My new shower will get tiled.  I will start the last purge of clothes preparatory to arranging the new closet which will be done in a couple of weeks.  I might even divest my refrigerator of a twenty-three-year magnet collection and slide the pictures from my inspiration board.

I’ll be ready to start fresh when the year ends.  I have one more month of my (second) Year Without Complaining.  I intend to make good use of it.


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