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Friday, Anything But Ordinary

All morning I intermittently sat at my desk in my study attempting to read and gather words on the page. For some reason the dog was unsettled and demanded my attention at every turn. About the time he finally settled down, my husband showed up for lunch. At that point I decided to make the Carrot-Ginger soup for dinner. Writing this, I know how lucky I am.

For the next few months my work life has changed as I am mostly working from home. I am attempting not to think that now I have more flexibility or since I am home, I can cook more, run errands. But the truth is I do have more flexibility. I can cook when taking a break. Cooking can be meditative, right? Is it possible that my attitude toward cooking could shift?

At best I have 30 minutes more to my work day and I feel nothing has been accomplished. I am in the middle of reading no less than three books. I edit a few poems and consider the difference between prayer and contemplation, dualist and non-dualist thinking. On some level I feel deep contentment and another I worry about family member and the possible tendency of leaning toward laziness. Who has this luxury of time? Who has this choice? I tell myself this is what writers do, they make time to write and think. This is only the second time in my life that I have this gift of time. The last was imposed, this time a fortunate choice.

The dog is finally sleeping peacefully on his bed.  Shortly, I will reheat the soup, add a few drops of toasted sesame seed oil and parsley. A simple supper to close the day.

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