Sunday, May 15, 2016


A warm sunny morning in what has been a month of grey fog. The day invites me to partake, to toss aside the “to do” list, to let go reflections about the glorious two nights of Spring Concert, to leave the e-mails unanswered. Today I should roam about like my old cat Chester. Just wander around a bit, stretch out in the sun, scratch my claws on the tree, jump up on a fence, have a bite at my food bowl when my stomach (not the clock) dictates, maybe cozy up on a lap and purr contentedly. Chester is some six years gone now, but I’m sure he was always confused about why I seemed to be so busy and what could possibly be more important than a little nap on a sunny patch of grass.
Of course, I’m violating all this simply by writing. But at least I’m outside in my yard, helicopters for the Bay to Breakers Race overhead, a lone cala lily shining in the light, leaves dancing in a slight breeze. The flowers from the recent concerts share the table with me, joining the riot of color that belongs to Spring. In the yard the graceful ballerinas of red fuschias, the drooping yellow trumpet flowers, the sturdy pink roses. The helicopter fades away and now the small voices of neighborhood children, the barks of distant dogs.
It’s Sunday and in some places in the world and amongst some people’s, a day of rest is still taken seriously. What a fine idea. To close the stores, have all screens come up blank, close the roads to cars, make the whole world a church and invite worship at the rose bush, the river’s edge, the ocean’s sandy beach. Shut down choice in the matter and watch what happens when people get restless and discover what awaits them just on the other side of boredom.
Instead, the stores are open and I guess I might as well shop for that new dishwasher (though thoroughly enjoying a week of washing by hand—the ongoing trade-off between ease and efficiency and sensual engagement with work). Guess I better go food shopping and yes, might as well answer those 18 e-mails so I can get more work in the future. But I’ll also play piano and go for a bike ride, two fine Sabbath activities and maybe write in my still-alive paper journal.
Hope you’re out and about and not reading this until Monday. Happy Sabbath!

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