Do you ever get to the point where even though the past few weekends have been almost unbearably fun (barbeques, basketball games, foreign visitors, etc.), your work weeks have become so hectic and tiring that the only left to do is call a moratorium on all mentally and physically stressful activities and proclaim a day of rest? That is exactly what things have come to this weekend.A day of rest is not for everyone. My 70 year old mother would sit down for five minutes, then next thing you know, she'd be out back cutting down a tree or adding an East wing onto the house. This happened a few weeks ago, when we were "relaxing" in the garden after a really lovely barbeque with friends. Nose deep in a book, I looked up from my chaise lounge in the shade of our dwarf apple tree just in time to see her stride by with a bow saw. Suffice it to say the ailing Chain of Gold tree that once graced our back yard has been saved the trouble of a slow wasting away. I won't even tell you about the time she single handedly brought down a large blue spruce, but I will say that it is this kind of unsavory "getting things done" that causes me to live in constant fear of waking up one morning to a hole in the ceiling with her waving down at me while cheerfuly proclaiming that she's almost done with the second story and my room is the lucky winner for where to put the staircase.
My idea of rest is something quite different. It requires pajamas, a large quantity of refreshing beverage, a snack (today it is cherries), a faithful companion (example pictured above, but any manner of dog or cat will do - even a rabbit or ferret is acceptable, so be creative! Caution: I would, however, not recommend a goldfish - or any manner of fish, really - as they are not good cuddlers), and (most importantly) a good book. If additional eating must be done, it should really be takeout or, at the very least, cooked by someone else. I may eventually get dressed if I feel like it, but the rule of the day is: If it is not in some way satisfying or relaxing, I don't do it. As a result, it is well past noon, I am still wearing my new surf monkey pajamas (I highly recommend the Nick & Nora line for the kind of whimsical patterns that make staying in your pajamas all day worthwhile!) and I don't care, because studies have shown that sock monkey pajamas have great restorative properties. After only one night of wearing them, for the first time in weeks, I was able to sleep in on a Saturday morning instead of waking up at six or seven. I don't think I need to point out how wrong that is. Praise the Holy Sock Monkey, I am cured!
Today's book of choice is Cornelia Funke's Inkheart, because I often find that young adult novels make for good escapist reading. They take me back to my youth when my mind could become so absorbed into a story that I could spend hours imagining myself as one of its characters, long after the actual reading of it was finished. And this is a book about books and characters who love books, so I know it will be thoroughly loveable:
Stacks of books were piled high all over the house - not just arranged in neat rows on bookshelves, the way other people kept them, oh no! The books in Mo and Meggie's house were stacked under tables, on chairs, in the corners of the rooms. There were books in the kitchen and books in the lavatory. Books on the TV set and in the closet, tall piles of books, books thick and thin, books old and new. They welcomed Meggie down to breakfast with invitingly opened pages; they kept boredom at bay when the weather was bad. And sometimes you fell over them.
Maybe it's because this sounds a lot like my last grad school apartment or maybe it's because it is filled with characters with names like Dustfinger and Silvertongue (who can bring fictional characters to life just by reading aloud!), but I have high hopes for this book that cannot even be dashed by the existence of a Brendan Frasier movie version that I never saw, but suspect could have done better with a healthy dose of Johnny Depp (mostly because I feel that Johnny Depp ca. Chocolat should play some role in all movies and I had already developed a Deppian picture in my head for Meggies dark and devestatingly handsome, bohemian father and he looks nothing like old, thick-necked Brendan Frasier who was fine in The Mummy, but has no role in the Inkheart movie in my head).
Later, if I can work up the energy to find the remote, I may watch a little Buffy or Angel while eating Chinese takeout directly from the box, but for now, my day is Inkheart, pajamas and wearing an ass groove into the couch. But that is all for now, because I have a whole lot of nothing to get done and I'm already behind schedule.
