I am slowly aware of the lavender fragrance… Sunday.. The day of drudgery, a day. Every suburban wife of my generation and generation before struggled with this alone. As she made the beds, shopped for groceries, matched the slipcover material, ate left over cold food, chauffeured the kids around for various classes, attended office and at night as lay beside her husband she was afraid to ask even of herself the silent question is this all.
I am like Shirley Conran, I would rather lie on a sofa than sweep beneath it, but I make a secret of it, sometimes even from myself, because sitting on the sofa on Sunday at 11 am pushes the guilt button, with beds to be made, lunch to be cooked, dust bunnies to be banished, Washmore to scaled and Ironall to be folded how could I just sit and pamper myself.
Going out of lunch because I feel like it… is sacrilege by the rituals of family etiquette, the physiological impact is just as much as a troll grade in the report card, and Sunday you see is the day of special breakfasts, and lunches the elaborate ones.
Some Sunday I will do things differently, this is what I will do, at 6.30 I will pull myself from my warm cocoon, fluff up the pillows and blankets and turn on the coffee filter, to make the coffee, air fry a samosa…yes the deep-fried fellow, which I usually store in my freezer to fry when needed… I would then take it back to bed, get right under the blanket, pick up a good book and go through my coffee and samosa.
Oh! Yes I would open the window, let the breeze in, and spend the next two hours in bed, with my book, coffee and samosa the inspiring music of exquisite elegance played by nature herself, the otherwise silence I think I would be near heaven. I might then pick up my drawing book and sketch a while maybe embroider a while
My kitchen would be closed for the day, I would go out for lunch and pamper myself maybe at Bhojan back I would potter in my workspace to do attempt some carpentry..I have just joined a DIY carpentry group. An hour or so, its coffee time again. Evening maybe the lady who does the massage I shall call her over for a massage, a hot cup chocolate and back to reading in bed till I drop off.
Maybe that will give me the time to find myself. Actually I should try this. As for the messy house, it is a must — it might separate our true friends from the others. Real friends are those who visit us and not our houses