CHASING DOWN THE MUSE: Nothing to do, nowhere to go on a lazy Sunday morning

Sunday morning. The day started for me just past dawn as I stirred under light covers. Gradually, I awakened to the symphony of sounds outside my window. The chatter of the wrens and finches provided a steady flow of background for the occasional caw of a crow, the pitikikik of a lone woodpecker, the harsh, angry sound of some neighborhood jays.

A whir of wings at the open skylight just above my head caught my attention as a hummingbird swooped in to defend its territory, I suppose, as I rolled over and opened my eyes at last. Though a part of me was eager to start the day, there was also some lazy, malingering part that resisted rising from sleep.

There is always so much to do. This is both blessing and curse. As I rose on this pleasant and peaceful Sunday morning, I vowed to myself the day would be one of ease, free of the push to do anything, no matter what else it might come to be. Only the blessings this day. It was a solemn promise and commitment to self that I meant to keep.

This was going to be easy. I like to leave the town to tourists on these warm days anyway, so sticking around home seemed effortless enough. And I was sure that if I gave myself over to the languid torpor induced by heat, success would be mine.

Wanna go to the movies? My short morning walk completed, stretching done, I was eating a light breakfast of ricotta cheese when the question came. No! My response reflexive and harsh even to my own ears, I backpedaled slightly to say, I just wanna be lazy today, sorry. Did my husband understand this? Somehow, lazy included not even getting into any discussion about it and so I said no more.

For weeks I had been muttering about needing to clean my garage studio space, yet I had done nothing in this direction, even continuing to pile more on the work surfaces than before. Lo and behold, I found myself on this beautiful Sunday morning moving toward the garage to begin to do just what I had been putting off for so long. Telling myself it would only take a few minutes…it would just be a beginning…keep it easy and still in keeping with the commitment, I began sorting through what could only be called debris at this point.

Forty-five minutes later, with the entire center space organized and cleared of extraneous materials, I noticed the warmth of the day setting in. Time to move on, to stay with intention. After a stop to fill bird feeders and water some droopy plants, I returned to the house where I picked up a book my friend Catharine had lent me and started to read.

Wanna do something? Go somewhere? Huh? Absorbed in the pages of Ron McClarty’s novel, “The Memory of Running,” it took me a moment to respond. Clearly, my husband, Mike, had a different intention for his day than my own.

This time I just shook my head. What more could I say? A small voice told me that I could of course just say yes, agree to go somewhere. Another voice stamped its foot and said NONONO!

I needed some pictures of art work, and had been meaning to take them for over a week. With some reluctance, I marked my place and got up to get the camera. In less than half an hour, I had finished the task, even downloading the images to the computer. Resisting the urge to go further with this project, I stopped for a lunch of cold salmon and vegetables. Instead of eating on the run, which is my norm, I drifted to the shade of the deck and spent the time lost in thought, listening to the birds and feeling the caress of a cool breeze on my skin as I ate.

The afternoon continued in much this same manner. Reading, a brief nap, small tasks left undone now completed without any difficulty at all, and the grace of time to notice the blessings, to appreciate them, and to breathe deeply. This was too good.

And, at the end of the daylight hours, as crows circled overhead, the hummingbirds did battle at the feeder, and the full moon appeared over the hills, I rejoiced in the day. Not for the first time, I was reminded that sometimes just letting go and not pushing too hard gets more done and with far greater pleasure. I was content.

CHERRIL DOTY is an artist, writer, and creative coach exploring and enjoying the many mysteries of life in the moment. She can be reached by e-mail at [email protected] or by phone at (949) 251-3883.