Sunday evening

On Sundays, there's some time in the early evening I have the house to myself for a change. Tom is off setting up for the singer/songwriter night he books at the Longhorn every Sunday, and Emmy usually curls up for a nap in her little nest of blankets. I used to just make tea and watch TV (Downton Abbey night!) but lately I've been using the time to get things done, prep for the week, be productive in whatever way pleases me instead of whatever way it seems the house needs most. Conveniently, these things sometimes coincide, maybe because giving yourself permission to do whichever piece of work you'd like first, makes the whole thing easier. I turn my New Yorker short story podcast, or an episode of Fresh Air or This American Life, up loud enough to be heard over the dishes, and slowly and sloppily make my way through them, wiping the counters at the end, gathering up all the dishtowels for a load of laundry to be finished later. Sometimes I'll roast a cauliflower, or some baby broccoli, or cook a little pot of rice to pack up for lunch for the week. It's just nice, that's all.