Sunday afternoon…


I didn’t get out of bed until close to 11am.  That is a RARE occasion.  One about which I used to feel guilty.  Not anymore.  I listen to my body, and give it what it needs, as often as I can.  Since we had no particular time-laden plans today I took advantage of some reading time.  I made notes on my to-do list.  I daydreamed.

Then the Kiddo and I ran some errands.  Now I’m cleaning, washing, writing.  

There’s a Firefly marathon on in the background.  I’ve seen all the episodes, a few times each.  I love them so, and Josh Whedon and Nathan Fillion have my loyalty, always.  My nerdy fangasms (also Buffy, Dr. Who, Sherlock, Dr. Horrible…) are truly intrinsic to who I am.

My ‘mantha is keeping me company, feeling slightly irritated that I won’t help her with her new toy.  She is truly spoiled, my sweet love.

The Kiddo is writing.  He is an AMAZING writer, and I’m always so excited to read his words.  His imagination, his turn of phrase…I cannot believe his brilliance.  And yet, I completely can.  He’s miraculous.

My Honey is traveling.  Again.  I often struggle with this, feeling lonely yet wanting SO not to feel that way.  

I’m researching recipes to honour all my Irish friends on tomorrow’s celebration.  I’m thinking Irish Soda Bread (minus any raisins — the Kiddo hates them), a salmon chowder, maybe some whiskey-laced vegan cupcakes. 

Sunday is holy to me in these ways.  I honour it with dreaming, and creating, and making space, and snuggling with loved-ones, while remembering myself, who I am in my soul.  It is designed as a weekly reset.  Often, there are cookies.

How do you use your Sunday?  

Only love,





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