There is, of course, my definition of “relaxing.” What it means is a day I can spend cleaning the house and doing laundry at leisure, rather than having to do it at 11:00 o’clock at night because I can’t stand the mud marks on the floor any more or I have nothing to wear the following day. A day when I don’t “do” anything is a day when I do a lot, really. Clean out the fridge, file papers, wash windows. I can only read for a half hour before the nagging begins: “Stop sitting around and doing nothing, for Christ’s sake. When was the last time you gave the downstairs bathroom a good going over? And the dogs need baths, too. You need to run out to the college with all that paper to recycle, and . . . ” On and on it goes.
Still, I like it. The house quiet. Work to be done. Not feeling rushed.