When I was teaching, my favorite day of the week was Friday. Friday was a wrap-up day at school; it was a short day, not to be confused with the misnomer of HALF day (Fridays were not even two hours less than normal days); and it signified the glorious weekend. Fridays were full of anticipation and hope for me.
Saturdays were days for laziness or fun, and as long as either was planned, it was great.
Sundays, the reality would sink in; the weekend was almost over, and perhaps nothing that great actually happened. That was when I began to realize that my lesson plans needed firming, and the house needed to be tidied, and we needed clothes to get us through the week. This little graphic summed up my Sundays.
|Photo Credit: Unique Teaching Resources|
Now that I'm retired, every day feels like Friday. Every morning, I am filled with hope that I will do things that bring me joy. A perfect day for me includes writing, walking, meditating, making connections with my loved ones, and checking something off of THE LIST. THE LIST contains things I NEED to do, as well as things I WANT to do.
Sundays no longer carry that two-edged sword of feelings: "Yay, it's still the weekend!" and "Dang, it's almost over." They stretch out before me, full of hope and promise. Up until Christmas, we had it down to a routine.
Up early, I'd enjoy my first cup of coffee while writing, then visit with my husband while we both had a cup. Then we would go out for breakfast, usually at The Cracker Barrel. When we came home, we would watch the CBS Sunday Morning News. Our afternoons varied; sometimes we'd ride our bikes or take our Boston Terrier for a walk, and sometimes we would have a lazy day of reading and watching TV. During the afternoon, I would call my dad.
Yeah, I need new rituals now. Everything changed last Christmas. The divorce has been final since February of this year. I don't spend my weekends in the city any more. I'm in a town of 342, and there is no Cracker Barrel here; big surprise. My little house doesn't have luxuries like satellite TV, so there is no CBS Sunday Morning News show to watch.
Every Sunday since the New Year, I have had a let-down. A memory would be triggered, and I would think, "I need to tell Dad!" and then I would remember. My eyes would sting when I realized there would be no Sunday phone call to Dad.
Yesterday was nice. My ex-husband spent the morning with me. He took me out to breakfast at The Little Wonder, before he headed out of town. He brought Marley to stay with me these next two weeks. Just having that little Boston snuggled up against my leg while I slept, and now while I type, is such a comfort.
Bridger texted to see how I was doing while we were out for breakfast, and I invited him to join me for lunch. I had dreamed of moments like this. Living less than five miles away from each other is so nice. When Bridge parked his truck, Marley was so excited. Dogs always know when their people are coming into the house, don't they?
My son and I shared a meal of chicken and homemade rolls. We ate the candied carrots, and some curried tofu. After dinner, Bridge played his guitar for me as we visited in the living room, catching each other up on our week apart. We drove into town for ice cream later. "I'm kind of glad Dad was out of town," my boy confided. "This has been fun." I smiled with gratitude.
Before it got dark, I began to feel guilty that Marley had not been for a walk. He leaped excitedly in front of me while I tied my shoes, and he wriggled into his harness and leash. We walked down a new road for me, following the canal past horse pastures and houses. As the sun slipped from view, I realized that I had enjoyed a very lovely day.
Having a routine is comforting to me. Yesterday was unusual, and not at all routine, but gave me hope that I will be able to find a new normal that will make Sundays feel full of hope and promise again.