Posts Tagged: weekends

mostly I breathed

I had a hell of a week last week.  It's one of those periods that just comes with my job – it's nothing new but it's starting to get old.  As I consider how much longer I want to have weeks like last week, I'm gearing up for another one.

If I'm questioning how much longer I want to entertain stress and long days in those five middle days in a week, I'm not questioning my ability to counter those kinds of days with what I need.  I told a friend this morning: "that drizzly day is calling me."  I went out there and walked.  I smelled the layers of leaves fallen in a park.  I admired the mist hanging about the lake and the city.  I bought food, and I cooked meals for the looming week.  I listened to CBC radio.  My home smells of roasted squash and cinnamon and tomatoes and sage.  I did laundry and cleaned my kitchen.

Mostly I breathed today.  I thought my neighbourhood, which is burgeoning with busyness all summer long, seemed a little lonely in late October.  In a good way.  Maybe  a place is like a person – and a break from everyone and everything does it good once in awhile.






a quiet weekend and twenty-seventh day of noting beautiful stuff

beautiful things found in the process of a quiet, sun-filled weekend:

  • Queen Street East buskers: the one at the LCBO near my house who plays all the best soulful rock songs from the seventies and the nineties (reminds me of a band I once loved back in Windsor); and the gorgeous, gorgeous blues player with the really long black and grey braids and sunglasses and the warm and pleasant "why thank you" down at the other LCBO; (and no, I didn't spend my whole weekend hanging about the local liquor stores); and some seasonal newbies today: the pair of teenage girls singing (pretty badly actually, but they'll grow, I have no doubt) and playing guitar by the library and the young guy cranking out heavy metal solos just down the way in front of the church.
  • Colour.  The forsythia have been blooming all week.  And crocus and scilla are popping up willy nilly in the greening lawns.  And the colour of the trees – not only the busting out buds in shades of soft green, but the branches which seem to be pulsing with deeper, richer hue – more black looking against the early morning or evening light.
  • This movie, and this one, and this one.  All three about the connection between beauty and love – how one enhances the other. 
  • Muted sunlight and cool breezes awakening me in morning instead of the alarm clock.
  • Evening light: