My husband is a doer. I am a thinker.
Earlier this year we realized that I was beginning to hate weekends. This seemed odd to both of us. On Friday nights I would begin to feel a sense of dread and continue to get grumpier and grumpier until ahhh, Monday arrived.
It took a bit of investigation on both our parts, but we realized that I was slipping into my husband’s doing mode when I would much rather be using my brain and doing a bit of whatever needed to be done while mulling over whatever philosophical or art-theory book I happened to be reading at the time.
So we made an agreement:
He would DO. I would THINK. And in between we would take care of everything else.
The new garden beds are built. There is drywall to be put up in the basement. My pile of unread books is shrinking. The laundry almost always gets done. The time we spend together on weekends is filled with good food, good humour, and taking care of the rest of our lives.
My Locker Room Epiphany
How Finding Nemo Gave Me Hope.
The House that Built Me.
A Curse for This Town; What a Beautiful Town
Words to Places; Scents to Memories
Move Around - Around - Around - Around
Why I hate going to public pools and the beach.
Spring and Such