Today is one of those days where I feel like the human equivalent of a hibernating bear. I’m in my household cave; it’s gray and wet outside; and I have no intention of sallying forth. There are no “Must Do’s” on my calendar either, not even so much as a reminder to wish a friend Happy Birthday or check with the yarn shop about my special order.
I slept in and am now in reading mode. Maybe I’ll play piano after that or crochet or take a nap.
I think my friend, Carol, would be pleased, because she is known to encourage me to “Get back to the garden.” I know she doesn’t really mean the garden, as in yard work, but the Garden as in allowing oneself to simply be and not be doing every minute.
I feel her mentally shaking her head when we talk on the phone and I say I’ve taken a part-time job that’s become almost full time or that I’m racing a clock to finish an afghan. “Get back to the garden,” she says.
“Yeah, yeah, I know.”
But for some reason today I am in the Garden or Cave or whatever you want to call it with no desire to leave. It’s a strange feeling, and I expect it will pass by tomorrow. But it has given me pause in more ways than one. I may even have to call Carol and tell her.
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