a blank day

On my kitchen wall hangs a huge calendar with lots of writing space for our normal four or five or more places we need to be / things to do each day. Sunday morning we woke to a beautiful sight—an entirely blank day on the calendar. No appointments, no meetings, no parties, no company, no practices.

The morning felt like a gift. For breakfast, I made cherry vanilla ricotta muffins from Molly Katzen's Sunlight Cafe. The recipe claims these muffins took Italian cheesecake lessons. I'm convinced they did—they are very special, and yummy.

While I cooked I listened to the Indigo Girls' Nomads, Indians, and Saints—struck once again by their powerful lyrics. How nice to linger over breakfast, to sip another cup of coffee, to page through the paper, to ramble through the house in pajamas and slipper socks and unbrushed hair, to have no plans.

We should've stayed home, but the kids all needed shoes and Halloween costumes so off we went. One major retailer had already compressed the Halloween stuff into one aisle to make room for wrapping paper and ornaments. The twenty families searching through the costume racks weren't feeling especially Christmasy. Argh....couldn't the store have delayed the Christmas creep by one more day? Four stores later we had shoes for two and costumes for two, and the other one at least knew what costume he wanted to order.

A successful shopping trip, but I still wish I could've stayed home in my pajamas.