nothing. nada. zilch.

on the third day of a long weekend i cannot help but pondering what i have done the last couple of days. the answer on the surface appears to be: absolutely nothing. then again since i have not just laid prone like a lump of flesh, i must have been doing something. i suppose the great question is what. possessing a tendency to be a hermit, i have discovered that there are a number of people who are patently curious as to what on earth i find so entertaining within the confines of the eight hundred and fifty square feet the mister and i call home.

this weekend i made a point of trying to avoid anything bearing even an iota of stress. some folks consider partaking in stressless activity akin to doing nothing. so be it. however, if we choose to analyze the four thousand twenty minutes since i arrived home on friday evening, i feel as though i have accomplished a great many tasks. i watched gads of tennis from the united states open. i spent an inordinate amount of time creating the perfect schedule for the reading portion of my teaching. i cooked potato pancakes. i read the news. i baked cookies. i read a book. i snuggled with the husband. i sewed. and i wrote letters.

yes letters. you know, you pick up a pen and write a message on a piece of paper. you fold up said paper and carefully slide it into an envelope. write the recipient's address on the envelope, write your own address on the envelope, and secure some stamps on the top right corner. put in mailbox. this is becoming a lost art. i am one of those wonky folks who believe that email, while amusing, is not the end-all-be-all of communication. i am still passionate about writing letters, although the time i have for such a delicious activity seems to dwindle more with each passing day. that doesn't stop me from collecting paper to create envelopes and cards. oh no, that supply grows almost daily. the mister views this paper collection as if i am collecting and storing trash. naturally, i do not see garbage, i see possibilities. lucky for me, my husband loves me so much that he puts up with my paper-hoarding habits, with hardly a complaint.

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