I was going to attack the paperwork. Clean out all my files. Get rid of all the newspaper and magazine clippings I was saving, for one reason or another. Shred the piles of paid bills, invoices, old receipts, etc. that shouldn’t just be thrown out. Didn’t get done. I was going to go through my closets and drawers. Make piles of what would stay and what would go. Re-organize, so fall and winter clothes and shoes were more easily accessible. Didn’t get done.
Then there was the soup I was going to make. My mother’s chicken soup. I already have the noodles, celery, carrots, green pepper, onion and parsnips. All I had to do was pick up some fresh dill and the chicken. Didn’t get done. When I first made the list of Sunday chores, I also thought I’d reward myself, by going to a movie at the end of the day. Even that didn’t get done.
Wondering what I did get done? N-O-T-H-I-N-G. Nada. I had a lazy day.
Well, not quite. I did manage to wash my hair. I also changed from a summer handbag, to one that’s meant for fall and winter. I thought about what I’d wear to a meeting I have this morning. I’ve since changed my mind, by the way. So much for pre-planning. What else did I do?
Hmmm… I toasted two slices of bread for breakfast, and poured myself a glass of orange juice. In case you’re wondering, the juice was already squeezed. I started, and finished, a new book. All Gone, by Alex Witchel. It’s a memoir of her mother’s dementia, but to be honest, it was more of a memoir about her. Can’t say I loved it.
Interesting, it didn’t get a good review on NPR, either. Heller McAlpin, who reviewed it, said the same thing I did: “All Gone would have been much stronger had Witchel stayed tightly focused on her mother. Instead, Witchel has padded the book with her own personal history …” . Too bad I hadn’t read the review before I bought it. Not that I ever let reviewers make my decisions for me.
Because I never got around to making my mother’s soup, I had to resort to Lipton Chicken Noodle soup for lunch. I had that, and a tangerine. I also made my bed, fed the cats and emptied two litter boxes. And I’ve read most of the Sunday New York Times. I just have the travel section left. I always save that for last, anyway. It’s my favourite and whenever I read it, I spend hours thinking about trips I’d like to take. If I read it first, I’d never get around to the rest of the paper.
By six o’clock I had cabin fever. But by then I was really too lazy to go out. To change out of the comfy, old T-shirt and leggings I’d been wearing all day. To make an effort and put on lipstick, eyeshadow, mascara and blush. To do something with my hair. To think about where I’d go. What I wanted to do. Whether or not I felt like calling around, to see if any of my friends felt like coming along.
Why go to all that trouble when I could stay home and download another book? Which is exactly what I did. San Miguel by T.C. Boyle. I read about it in last week’s N.Y. Times Book Review. It’s a historical novel about three women’s lives on a California island. I didn’t get far enough into it, to tell you whether or not I like it.
Just be warned. I’ve got a busy week, this week, so I may not be able to let you know about the book until the next time I make like a sloth. Shouldn’t be too long a wait.