The Joy of the Three Day Weekend

I love three day weekends; there’s something blissful about the gift of an extra day at home and I appreciate each and every one of them. There is a little accompanying paralysis however, because I feel as if I must do something important and not fritter the day away, so this weekend was spent doing a little personal organizing. That means I tackle one of my mini disaster areas and make some attempt to deal with whatever it includes. The disaster area of the weekend is my dining room table.

We rarely eat at the dining room table preferring instead the living room (yes, I know) or the island in the kitchen. This means that the dining room table becomes a repository for things that are in transition…the sewing machine on its way to the repairman, a lampshade my daughter wants re-covered, a defunct paperwhite which needs to go to the compost pile, a package that needs to be mailed and a pile of next semester’s textbooks.

This should not be a big deal, but the stuff ended up on the table because I didn’t want to have to deal with it at the time, so dealing with it now requires some sort of monumental psychic force. I can hear my daughter’s mantra now…don’t put it down, put it away. This is the same person whose only discernible disaster area is the trunk of her car. She’s getting the damned lampshade back.


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