Weekends. When the rest of the world is out doing, I am home being.
I say a prayer upon rising then amble down to the kitchen to make my coffee concoction. I smile at all the jars of extra nutrition I put into it, amused at the potion it has become. More often than not a wistful memory surfaces around this ritual. I let it come. On other days, I am inclined to discipline myself about certain emotions that sometimes threaten to rule. But on weekends, we have the luxury of sitting together until I can send them gently on their way. Then I throw open the doors and windows, welcome air and light into my home, feeling every part of me finally waking up. I sit on the lanai chair that gives me the best view of my garden and sip my morning elixir. Already I am in a space of gratitude for this home and life I am so very fortunate to have. I walk barefoot on the grass and stand in the middle of my space on this earth. I take in the ground beneath me, receive the sky above me and feel myself right at the center of their generosity.
I go upstairs and put on my exercise gear. I know that if I get dressed for it, I will do it. And I do. I move at a pace that is enlivening for me, to the music that inspires not just my body, but all of me. Most of the time, the music is soft and slow. I don’t necessarily move to its rhythm, but I feel my internal spaces responding. It just is. These days I particulary enjoy Jim Hall’s “Conceirto de Aranjuez”. Or Jobim’s “Luiza”. They bring me to a space of fullness. Even as my physical body moves, I can close my eyes and sink into that, feel my breath, listen between the notes. What quiet joy!
If the sun is particularly shiny, I will whip out my beach blanket and slip into my fuschia bikini (yes) and get my Vitamin D in large, unapologetic doses. I will drink up the clouds and have fun with the patterns that I insist are messages from the heavens. And sometimes they are wild and rowdy ;).
At some point I will make my perfect weekend breakfast: a lightly fried egg with Cholula hot sauce on buttered toast. Fine, it’s gluten free, but today it is freshly baked. Sometimes there will be bacon. Or avocado. And when I have my act especially together, I will have it all with organic greens. Oh, bacon! Oh, butter! Did I say I already had butter in my coffee? Life can be sooooo good.
Did someone say laundry? (oh, how I love this chore!). Weekends are for doing that big time, though with two teenage boys I have to do lots of it during the week as well. Then I tidy up here and there, read, write, journal. This morning, I finished cleaning the oven while waiting for the coffee to brew. I like this silent work. I am an introvert and therefore in my element. Sometimes I will hum and surprise myself with the sound of my voice, the only human sound of the day. While others look forward to being out on weekends, I make the most of the quiet. This is where I gather strength and energy.
It is the time for stinky seaweed treatments, therapeutic candlelit soaks in the tub, or self-massages with the most deliciously smelling and warming oils. It is the time for letting my thoughts wander, for taking deep breaths, for letting tears flow if they come and being grateful for the cleansing. It is the time for giggling at something a friend says, or holding the space created by someone else’s words that were perfect just for me at that moment.
Weekends are for acknowledging how utterly blessed I am to be comfortable with myself– in the quiet– finding grace exactly where I stand.