A pajama day

 

Pajama days, I firmly believe, are good for the soul. I’d been planning this one for several days. Sophie appears to be on the mend, I had no obligations, social or otherwise—the only thing on my calendar was virtual church, and God understands if you don’t get out of your pjs. It’s what’s in your heart, not on your body.

So I was lazy. Slept late, ate leftovers, wrote a few emails, went to church, napped, and finished the Jessica Fletcher Murder, She Wrote mystery I’ve been reading. That Jessica, she sure is one smart sleuth. As I scrolled through Facebook for an idle bit, a friend kept posting links to songs by my favorite singers—Judy Collins, Joan Baez, Joni Mitchell. Lovely way to spend some time on a pajama day.

Tomorrow, I vow I will get back to serious work, but that’s a vow I’ve been making for several Mondays. Somehow life gets in the way—first it was the holidays, then Sophie. Tomorrow is not off to a good start because I have a routine doctor’s appointment at ten-thirty, right in the middle of my best working time. Tuesday, it’s a haircut but fortunately at lunchtime, and Friday another appointment, this with the podiatrist. Plus Thursday I plan to cook a big birthday dinner that may take me more than one day. Is it just at my age or does life always get in the way of the serious things you want to do?

Serious as I think the chaos in the House of Representatives is, I have been amused at the humor on the internet. Two of my favorites: a post that congratulates Kevin McCarthy on his quinceanera, and one that says, “It’s like selling your soul, only the check bounced.”

For my lazy day, I scrambled some eggs tonight—my go-to supper. Only this time I tried a fancy new method. I like soft scrambled, really soft, and this method promised “velvety” eggs. Of course, I cut the recipe in half and substituted ingredients—okay, I didn’t have cream, so I used buttermilk, not a successful substitution. My advice: go on scrambling the way you always do that works for you. That, however, is the fun of experimental cooking—you find some things that work, some that don’t.

My Megan from Austin is on her way to LA tonight for the big game, with her younger son Ford (older son Sawyer does not care one whit about football, which makes him a child after my own heart). Unfortunately there is a ninety-six percent chance of rain tomorrow in Santa Monica, with severe storms predicted for Tuesday. I’ll be glad when Megan and Ford are safely home again.

Last night at a dinner party, everyone was astounded when I said no, I probably wouldn’t watch the game, but I would check the score occasionally. Tonight Fort Worth is truly a purple city—lights on the Seventh Street bridge and several of the downtown buildings, streetlights in several area of town, houses decorated with purple and white (did they just take down red and green and replace?). I do have my TCU T-shirt all ready to wear tomorrow, so I’m at least a bit patriotic.

Here's to sweet, purple dreams tonight, a victory tomorrow night, and a good week as we truly move into 2023. My pajama day has refreshed me, and I am eager to head into the week and attack the projects on my desk. I wish for you the same positive attitude.