Today is Sunday and Sunday's in Ireland, as in the Sunday's in my memory of my childhood, have a special quality to them. This is perhaps the living out of the "Lord's" commandment, seconded by our bodies, that our lives require regular days of rest.
Sunday's in Ireland include long luxurious wakings, time spent alone on my yoga mat stretching and rejuvinating through use of various stretches with and without bolsters to aggrevate stuck areas until they release. Likewise a long wlk with Margie and the dogs, traveling up the new concrete walkway to the bridge, there to stand quietly and take in both the overall views of the harbors and the small particulars of wave and wildlife.
The radio highlights the breakfast time with essays and music on Sunday Morning Miscellany which is similar to public radio in the US but not nearly so serious. Or perhaps the true business of the day, such as remembering past challenges, recalling details of prior rugby matches, and connecting to Irish life through vignettes told from memory is truly the serious work of life and politics and business are not?
Sunday is also a day for art. Today I am playing around with new technologies (for instance I have no idea why the colors shown above look nothing like the original). I find that making art reguires regular "lifting," developing new skills much like one does in a gym. Today I try to mix create time into pleasureable and sleepy time. As my eyes droop, I know the sleepy side has won, as I finish another painterly beginning that I have given adequate focus to the creative moment.
I distinctly remember seeing my Dad on a Sunday, out in his garage organizing his tools. When I asked him how his day had gone he replied that it had been a good day. He had spent time puttering, organizing, and (with his face lighting up with glee) "I even did some scavenging!" Who knows what this day may bring?
All the best to all who read this blog,
Alana
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