I needed some prodding this week, in terms of trying to get through my days as joyfully as possible. When I feel particularly sluggish or unenthusiastic about the day ahead, I get into my car and I challenge the day to surprise me. It often does, when I am paying attention.
Tag: Women’s issues
Yes. The weekend again! One I can enjoy in full, assuming the plumber restores water to my abode. I have a long hike planned, and a peek into a Trisha Brown performance on Sunday. To satisfy both the bucolic and the city girls who reside in me. My week was punctuated by a few chuckles here and there and some mindless tv enjoyed in my pjs (having a proper excuse for not washing). I am passing it all along.
Until she divorced, when I was already in my 20s, my mother was a homemaker. Being the disgruntled teenager that I was, I criticized her to martyrdom for her choice not to work, as I saw it, and spend her time cooking two meals a day, shuttling my sister and I all over town and, the worst offense of all in my book, waiting on my father hand and foot.
There is something sofa girl and I have in common: we abhor food waste, always using everything, down to the last bit of sad-looking celery in the refrigerator drawer. I am not sure where we get it from. My mother has never wasted food, and always repurposed leftovers, but even she doesn’t come close to my compulsion. If I bought it, I will find a way to cook it and eat it.
As time goes by, still reeling from the disappointment of the last Presidential election, I think more and more about moving back to Europe. Unlike many who have threatened an en masse move to Canada, I could do it fairly easily. The perennial dysfunction that has been an Italian trademark since Roman times looks welcoming from afar right now, it even beckons.