Sundays used to be a dreaded day of the week for me.
For many years I worked Sunday mornings. When I had smaller children at home, Sundays meant gathering up the loose ends of the weekend, and pointing everyone’s compass towards a new week.
The kids are grown, and the youngest spends Sundays with her Dad. Sundays have now become my time to recharge. There’s the zen relaxation I get from yoga. Afterwards a quick trip to the grocery store to shop, and then head home to a quiet house.
This is my time. Solely mine. I read the paper. I may watch an old movie. I cook and bake.
I’m creating in the kitchen and I’m in a zone. Nothing relaxes me more (except yoga.) Mixing, stirring, tasting, adding a pinch of this, a smidgen of that.
It’s the same feeling I get when I’m writing. When the words are flowing and I can see the scene unfolding behind my eyes, I am relaxed.
I look forward to Sundays as my day to cut out all the distractions, and go inward. My day to recalibrate and get back in touch with my self.
My mind is calm, my body stretched and warm.
Ah, the zen of Sunday.