It’s been one of those bluesy Sundays. The kind of day when you know in your head and even your heart that your life is fantastic, but you can’t quite shake the low-lying melancholy. The reason I started this Sunday gratitude journal–to remind myself even on a gray Sunday of all the good things.
And this afternoon, the sun came out, and I did the very best thing I could do–went outside and hacked away at the killer roses, pruned some shrubs that have burgeoned beyond control, pulled some weeds. Enjoyed the honeysuckle, the iris, the very first Cecile Brunner roses that are almost too high up to see. My arm hurts, but mostly I feel much better. On to the gratitude journal:
My busy week and enough energy to get through that busy week.
Hearing T. Clear’s poems on Monday night–a poetry date night with Tom, and with music, with beer. Such good poems.
A chance to hang out with friends (and friends who are winemakers) and taste Cabernet Franc.
Another trip to my mom’s, going through every piece of paper, every photo, from our trip to Scandinavia in 1974. Memories of Norway and Denmark. Memories of being 14 and on that cusp–wanting to be older and cooler and more confident.
Thursday poetry writing group–wonderful poems and some much-needed help on the poem I brought.
Any sleep I got.
Birds in the morning.
Time with my mom and my sister. Time with my dad and my daughter.
The dinner Tom’s making right now.
And a couple (!) of poetry acceptances.
I confess I’m looking forward to more at-home week ahead.
Open the door. Open my heart.