Sunday Afternoon

The afternoon sun blasts its way through the sliding glass doors into the living room, heightened in its intensity by reflections off the snow covered roofs we can see from the balcony. The light exposes every dust bunny and piece of glass streaked with doggy nose smears. But, today the sun light can't intimidate me because, in a frenzy of energy, John and I cleaned the house Saturday afternoon. We couldn't take it anymore. We couldn't wait for the snow to melt. It was starting to look like the home of a recluse with no cleaning lady to visit regularly. There were dirty dishes stacked on the counters, toys strewn about the house and dirty clothes litering the floors. The towels and sheets were starting to take on lives of their own. All of this, very unlike us. Guess the four days locked in at home and sloshing through two feet of snow every six hours with the dogs took a toll on us.

Our cleaning work paid off. We woke to spend a lazy day at home. The dogs are sleeping on the floor (instead of the furniture for some strange reason). John just finished a bunch of expense reports and is getting ready to cook a lucious Sunday dinner -- a whole chicken roasted with root vegetables. He's trying to outdo himself after a mouthwatering, aroma room-filling herb and mushroom suffed pork roast served with lemon buttered asparagus. It's tough to admit, but we are foodies--we live to eat.

I'm watching the Olympics while I do my "social media" thing--uploading pictures from our trip to NYC last weekend, posting messages and pictures of my grandchildren on Facebook pages and making dinner dates with friends using Facebook chat. What ever happened to the telephone? I'm going to try that old fashioned device to reach my girl friend in Connecticut later today. I don't know which is worse -- that I'm adapting to the new digital world and actually liking it or that some of my friends are stuck in email or, god forbid, the telephone as their major source of communications. I even have one sister who is still on dial-up.

It takes effort for me to be this lay-back. I'm itching to get out to Annapolis and the sailboat. But I can't get excited about working out in our exercise room downstairs -- something is my body is saying, "Oh no, not when you walk up and down those many frigin' stairs going back and forth to work on the metro." I know better -- I've got sagging arms to prove it; but the exercise fairy has not touched with me her magic wand. I'm such a bad girl! Whip me!