My spine still hasn’t forgiven me. And a short Saturday shift back at work with these sore muscles saw me conk out on the couch for a solid nine hours.
Monday is a huge work day, but in between I have a Sunday off to got back to the section and do more burning… or diddle around on the internet and get some other planning work done. I still haven’t decided. Either way, it’s starting to feel like I haven’t had proper time “off” for quite a while now. There’s always something to do.
I’m starting to think that there was something to my great-grandmother’s insistence that Sundays were always a day of no work. I mean, she didn’t even cook on Sundays… which just meant that they had to cook more on Saturdays. You went to church in the morning, came home for a cold lunch, read in the afternoon, and then sometimes went back to church again for a late service. That was as much of a day off as her Victorian sensibilities would stand.
Of course, the other six days of her week were fully committed to tending and operating a family house and garden. This was back when coal ranges and copper laundry boilers were a necessity, so running a household was actually a lot of hard, physical work. In some ways we are very lucky, but our paid employment doesn’t change the fact that there is still cooking and laundry to do. And now our winter of landscaping and planting as well.
On that theme, my Saturday night blog has migrated into the beauty of a Sunday morning…