We're looking at several rainy days in a row. In theory, this is a treat. Afghans on laps (the blankets, not the dogs), books in hand, tea and biscuits on a side table and a fire in the fireplace. In reality the Guilt Monster bangs on the door and points out the dust dragons in the corners. They ate the bunnies years ago. The laundry starts to creep down the stairs to the washer on its own, and the science experiments in the fridge start making muffled noises through the door. It's hard to find excuses enough to go around. The great outdoors beckons not.
The solution to this I hear is to set an old-fashioned kitchen timer for fifteen minute bursts of activity. Fifteen minutes in one room. Brrrrinnng. Fifteen minutes in another room. Brrrinnng. Fifteen minutes in a third room. Brrriiinnng. Tea, cookies, maybe a nap. Well, just one chapter in the book I can't put down. Oh, and I haven't called Jane in a week. And suddenly it's time for dinner. I meant to get back to it, I really did. But who can resist the lure of an autumn day when the rain heightens the contrast between the red leaves and the black bark of the trees? When the cars make that wonderful ssssssssssss noise as they pass by? When the pitter patter on the window exactly duplicates the sound my sleep machine is scientifically engineered to make to help me drop off at night?
I say it's more important to pay attention to the sounds and the colors than the dust dragons. They're always easier to spot when the glare comes through the windows from the fresh fallen snow anyway. Which reminds me...I suppose I should clean the windows. Tomorrow.
The solution to this I hear is to set an old-fashioned kitchen timer for fifteen minute bursts of activity. Fifteen minutes in one room. Brrrrinnng. Fifteen minutes in another room. Brrrinnng. Fifteen minutes in a third room. Brrriiinnng. Tea, cookies, maybe a nap. Well, just one chapter in the book I can't put down. Oh, and I haven't called Jane in a week. And suddenly it's time for dinner. I meant to get back to it, I really did. But who can resist the lure of an autumn day when the rain heightens the contrast between the red leaves and the black bark of the trees? When the cars make that wonderful ssssssssssss noise as they pass by? When the pitter patter on the window exactly duplicates the sound my sleep machine is scientifically engineered to make to help me drop off at night?
I say it's more important to pay attention to the sounds and the colors than the dust dragons. They're always easier to spot when the glare comes through the windows from the fresh fallen snow anyway. Which reminds me...I suppose I should clean the windows. Tomorrow.
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