All day long, as far as I know, nothing is happening.
It’s not the day for grocery shopping.
I visited my mother yesterday, and she has no doctor’s appointments, needs no forms filling in, has milk in her fridge, and my sister is visiting her today.
No visitors are coming.
It’s not a day when I’m needed to give a lift in the car.
The magazine article deadline was yesterday – done, sent in.
It’s not the day to go to church.
There are no postal deliveries expected.
Nobody is needing extra attention because they are leaving or coming home today.
We have no builders.
There’s nothing to take to the post office.
I have no proofs to read.
These last months I’ve been writing writing writing, every day writing writing writing – and yesterday I finished the second of two novels written this year and sent it in, with all support documents – the ninth book in the Hawk & the Dove series, the last of that series. I have nothing else planned, contracted or scheduled.
I am booked for no funerals.
I don’t have any laundry worth doing.
The wild rain storms have stopped, there’s a breeze and a beautiful sunrise.
Other than feeding the crow family, the fox family and the badger family (the wild furry woodland one, not my husband), I have nobody who can’t get their own meals, here.
The house is clean and tidy.
I have everything I could possibly want and don’t need to go shopping.
There are no charity kerbside collections to get up and put things out for.
It’s not garbage collection day.
It’s not recycling collection day.
I (finally) drove out to Catsfield to drop off various people’s unwanted books at the charity book bank.
I’ve fed the young trees and the rain storms have watered them.
This week, nobody has a birthday.
I have no speaking/preaching/retreat leading engagements.
Nobody I live with cries several times a day, needs their bottom wiping or can’t tie their own shoelaces.
I don’t have a dog, watching me, waiting . . . waiting . . .
There’s nothing I feel guilty about because I ought to be going to it and don’t want to.
The others who live with me have tended the garden.
This whole day there are no plans or obligations and nothing to worry about, nothing to dread and nothing to accomplish. The last time I can remember that happening I was four.
Well, hallelujah, eh?