Skip to main content

Sacred Fridays

I've been fortunate in my working life to have a flexible schedule and the option to telecommute. Since Happy was a baby, I've worked from home at least one day per week, and there were a few years when I was at home three days per week. Telecommuting allows me to breathe in and out, to catch up on laundry or errands, to have a day when I don't feel chained to email and can actually catch up on editing. Telecommuting just generally keeps me sane.

Now I work from home as often as I can, but always always always on Fridays. It's the only way I can regroup from a busy week. And let's face it: Most weeks have even busier Saturdays and Sundays, so it's nice to have Friday to sit still.

The view from my Friday office
Right now I am sitting on my deck, sipping coffee with a manuscript on my lap. I'm breathing deeply, enjoying the September sun on my back. The kids are at school. The cat has taken his usual position, curled up by my feet. A wren scolds us from her perch in the cherry tree. A cricket sings in the veggie garden. A lawnmower buzzes on the next block. I have a direct view of my stringbean teepee shaking ever so slightly in the breeze; soon it will be time to turn over the garden, but not before we nibble a few more sweet, crunchy beans.

I met a friend for coffee this morning, then came home and caught up on the week's email. I read two chapters of a book that has been my dream project, and I learned that we exceeded our annual revenue forcast by almost 25%. I now have time to vacuum the house and shower before Happy comes home from school.

Fridays are sacred here.

I feel full and satisfied. I'm grateful.


Popular posts from this blog

Boardwalk ghosts

“Imagine this, buddy, in the middle of summer, especially near the Fourth of July. Wall to wall people, just sort of moving in and out of each other. Flashing lights. Loud music. Screams from Morey’s Pier, laughter on the swirly rides. Oh...and the cream, funnel cake, fudge, cheese steaks, pizza, fries...the smells alone would drive you nuts!” 
It’s 5:00 on the evening before his Nana’s funeral, and we’re standing in a windy drizzle on an empty Wildwood boardwalk. My mind has flashed back to the summer of 1991, when I spent a week here with my best friend. Wicked sunburn. Tandem bike adventures. Water slides. Thrill rides. A ground-shaking thunderstorm. Friendship bracelets. College guys taking showers outside. Ice cream and VCR movies every night.

Back in the here-and-now I’m trying to explain to Zippy what this place is like when it’s not October. He’s been to Rehoboth and Ocean City and Old Orchard Beach, but none of those come anywhere close to Wildwood in peak season.…


Zippy and I hiked in the woods the other day, following the icy trails around Evergreen Cemetery. The cold air stung our eyes but the sun shone warm and bright, and it felt great to breathe fresh air. As he skipped and hopped and twirled beside, in front, and around me, I felt peaceful, happy, content. Until I realized the Womens' March is in a few days, I am going, and I don't know what to expect. I've never done anything like this, except for a few years ago at Occupy Philly, which was nothing compared to the numbers they're anticipating this weekend. The Women's March will be a peaceful protest, yes, but 200,000 is an awful lot of people in highly charged city during turbulent times. I felt anxiety creeping into my chest.

"So you know I'm going away this weekend, right? To Washington, D.C. For just two sleeps. Do you know why I'm going?" I asked Zippy.
"Because you don't like Donald Trump and he's going to be the President."

Look up

I walk a lot. Walking is one of the pieces of my Portland lifestyle that I value most, in fact: countless trails, parks, paths, and sidewalks that not only get me where I need to be, but also show me woods and sea and proud old homes and all sorts of loveliness. (I also walk past a lot of not-so-lovely in this town each day, but we'll save that for another post.) Sometimes when I walk through a quiet neighborhood, like the one over here along Clifton Street in Back Cove, I feel envious of single-family homes and yards and kid-friends playing together in the driveway. Other times in these same neighborhoods, I feel grateful for the ample parking and snow removal of our rental home, as well as for landscapers who cut the grass and landlords who come to fix the kitchen lights or replace the dryer when it punks out. When I walk through Evergreen Cemetery, often I feel contemplative, peaceful; its consecrated ground and hundreds of years of history soothes me. Other times I feel sad an…