Last week was jam-packed and action-filled. Much of it was wonderful–I absolutely delighted in surprising my coworkers with goofy treats for each day of Teacher Appreciation Week, and I was tickled to catch up via videochat with a bunch of Sick Pilgrim artist-friends–but there was too much that was heavy and hard.
By the time I walked out of my office on Friday night (almost an hour later than I expected to), I was weary to the bottom of my soul. A Sisterfriend and her daughter, with their own weary souls, came by for “a quick drink.” True to form, they were loaded down with delicious snacks, and while we chatted, my husband built a fire in our backyard firepit, and soon that ‘quick visit to catch up’ became a long evening of bearing one another’s burdens until we were all at peace.
I slept better than I have in weeks.
Saturday, after sleeping in, I spent the morning wrestling the house back into order, as usual. While running errands, though, I made a long-overdue trip to the library. My small town library is a treasure. It has been months since I just wandered through the stacks, waiting for inspiration to strike. It felt so good, like getting a spa treatment.
Saturday nights, my husband and I regularly meet two other couples–childhood friends of mine–for dinner. This weekend, my youngest son and his girlfriend joined us. Over scallion pancakes and sushi, we talked about Marvel characters (we are unanimous in our delight in Moon Night), and favorite museums, and discussed upcoming travel plans (both real and hoped for).
Yesterday, I spent a quiet Mother’s Day with a trip to the garden shop for new perennials (the purple and yellow columbine is my new favorite addition to the front bed) and some early herbs. My husband got the veggie beds rototilled, and we just had a grand time puttering in the dirt.
I am about to head back to work. Things that weighed heavy last week are waiting for me. Thanks to the small joys of the weekend, though, I am ready.