Frugal Weekend Experiment

I am currently trying to save some money for an upcoming trip.

This is a trip to Las Vegas and for some reason I have some guilt associated with the gambling part of it. I had no trouble shelling out the dough for the airline ticket. But now I need some cash for the super fun stuff.

Somewhere along the line my financial guru helped to make me see the light.

I pretty much make the same amount of money each year. It can fluctuate a little depending on how much vacation I take, but basically there are so many work days and so many appointments and there is a limit. Which means if I want to save some extra money….hang on this is the hard part….I have to spend less. What?? Horror!

I am on day 3 of the frugal living savings plan.

I am doing pretty well. It helped that I worked half a day on Saturday. It killed time and I can’t spend money if I am working.


I had the day off and was going to go golfing with my sister.  But, it rained. So we went out to lunch and had a couple of drinks and some burgers. It was fun. I know, I know you are saying, “Gyspy Girl Jilly, so far you haven’t saved any money but you have spent some on booze and burgers.” Yes, darlings… I know.  But a person cannot be a total hermit or bad things happen.  Here is the savings part. Lunch is typically cheaper than dinner. Also, if you drink during the day you get tired and go home and take a nap. Napping is free.

I had made a gigantic vat of chili the night before so that was dinner (again). I putzed around my garden, read a little and then I was bored. I ended up spending $5.99 On Demand to watch an interesting documentary called Tim’s Vermeer.  It is produced by Penn and Teller and is interesting if you are at all interested in Vermeer’s paintings (The Girl with the Pearl Earring) or scientific inventions.  I liked it for a number of reasons.


  1. I was a History of Science major in college. That means I like nerdy stuff.
  2. I had read the book The Girl with the Pearl Earring which was fiction but revolves around Vermeer so I was intrigued.
  3. Penn and Teller are a part of the telling of the story.  They perform in Las Vegas…which is where I am going, and why I am staying at home and saving money.  It is a sign!

Then Friday was over.


I worked until 1 pm.  Good moods abounded; it was a good Saturday in the office.  I bought both a hydrangea and lavender plant on sale. Saved 60%. Planted them. Watched a little tennis and then a little baseball because ‘the sisters’ were at the game and I was trying to catch a glimpse. I might have taken another nap. More chili for dinner. (That’s it! I am up to the gills in chili.)

I found 30 bucks for the trip fund going through my jackets and jeans. Yay! Also found a whole bunch of lip gloss. My lips will stay plump and juicy in the desert. I am prepared.

I watched some free TV and learned how to make pizza on the grill and brisket.

Then Saturday was over.

It’s Sunday. It was raining a bit when I got up but it is looking sunny now. I am writing this story and then need to get some exercise. Will spend some time hanging out on my deck. The flowers are looking good and I have some cozy furniture.  It really is peaceful out there.  I will probably go out for a little bit. No shopping. Maybe a visit with an old friend.

It wasn’t too bad having a frugal weekend. Actually, I got a lot of good sleep. My house is pretty clean and I don’t have a headache. I don’t know how many days in a row I could do this, but I figure I saved at least a 100 bucks. Yay!

Saving money made me think of my trusted friend and financial advisor who I have mentioned in other stories- I like to think of her as my money shrink.

She has really helped change my life. Part of the reason I am now writing a blog is because I have more peace and calm in my life. Part of that is having a ‘plan’ in case everything goes belly up. I have a plan and it is all under control. That leaves time to write little stories instead of worrying about all of the other stuff.

My relationship with my money shrink is way different than the time I went to a head shrinker. Yes, the one time I went to a head shrinker. That was a totally surreal experience.

I had been talked into going to a head shrinker as part of couple’s therapy. Before our appointment I had to take a quiz.  I took it in the car on the way to our favorite Thai restaurant which took about 20 minutes.  As we parked, I handed it to my then sweetheart. He said, “Don’t you want to review this before you hand it in?” I said, “I can do that if you want, but my answers will be the same.” I should have known right then how it all would turn out.

It was time for the appointment. I was nervous. We had gotten the results of the quiz back and the results were pretty good.

I met the head shrinker -Frank. I liked him right away.

The sweetheart started the discussion and in about 10 words explained his side of the story.

Then it was my turn.  I took a deep breath.  Then it all came spilling out it in great detail. I started to cry. Frank handed me a tissue.  I said “Thanks” and kept going. I got it all out. (That is the key.)

After a bit, Frank started to give us some therapy. (Without going into too much detail, we were having issues with third parties dictating too much of our relationship.) He started out by saying that he was going to tell us exactly what we should do.

I felt like I had been struck by lightning. I got it. I knew it.

So, Frank went into great detail about what we were going to be doing for the next two weeks. The sweetheart was nodding and agreeing and totally positive. Then Frank asked me what I thought.

I said, “There is no way in hell that I am going to be told what I can or cannot do by another person.

The sweetheart was giving me the elbow and looking at me with total and complete horror. I think he would have wanted to beat the shit out of me but he is not a violent person. Otherwise I would have been toast.

Frank said, “Exactly!” I passed the test. We went on to discuss how it is ridiculous for a third party to dominate or control a person.

I never made it back to see Frank again.  He really helped me though. It has been many years since that happened, but I sometimes think about that day in his office.

To wrap things up… I guess I feel glad that I am in control. I can spend money or save money. I can be alone but not be lonely. I can be with friends who get it. I am in charge and the results are mine.

On day 3 I find myself richer…in many ways.

Wish me luck in Vegas!





Zen Boy Scout

I am an uptight person.  There, I said it. What do they say? That the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem in the first place?

For those of you that know me in real life it is not a total surprise. I run a pretty tight ship. My work desk is spotless and I could pack it all up and leave it pristine if I had 2 minutes and a banker’s box.

When it comes to work stuff being uptight is actually a good thing. But once you have figured out all of the work stuff and your life is basically under control it is time to find some Zen.

Somewhere along the line I became interested in Zen/Buddha ideas and sayings and paraphernalia.

In one of my old houses I had a mantle from an old fireplace in my bedroom.  I got my first Buddha statue shopping on Main Street in Oshkosh. There is a shop called Satori Imports that has lots of good stuff if you are ever in need of a glow in the dark Frisbee, a gigantic bong in the shape of a dragon or Buddha statues.  Right now if you spend a 100 bucks you get a free sweatshirt that is totally awesome. I want one bad.  I haven’t spent the 100 bucks yet but I am tempted to buy a gift certificate just to get the sweatshirt. It’s that good. Seriously.

So, my first Buddha was a gift from a sweetheart. Over the years he would give me many others as a surprise, usually for no good reason.  I had a whole bunch and I really loved them.

Then some bad stuff happened and I got mad. As in majorly pissed off and for good reason. I swept all of the Buddhas into a box and returned them to sender. I know, I know….you are thinking “Jeez, Gypsy Girl Jilly you are so dramatic!”

I do regret it now.

Anger is not a good thing.

You will not be punished for your anger, you will be punished by your anger.


Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.


Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die.

Gautama Buddha

I especially like the drinking poison one.

Just so you know how the story ended. We did eventually make up and the Buddhas were offered back to me as a good will gesture. At that time I said no because my feelings were hurt. (Me being my stubborn, hardheaded self. Totally un-Zen. Shame on me.) Last I heard they were living in a box in the closet.  It’s been awhile so perhaps they have found a new and happier home. I hope so.

So a few years passed and I found that Buddhas were making an appearance back into my life.  This is a good thing.  Basically, the whole Zen thing is about acknowledging the present. Breathe.

The past is already gone, the future is not yet here. There’s only one moment for you to live, and that is the present moment.

Gautama Buddha

For me, the biggest challenge is not living in the past. If you spend all of your time looking in the rear view mirror you can’t see what is up ahead. ‘Would-A, Could-A, Should-A Syndrome’ (WACASA) is the worst!

I used to sometimes think about what I would do differently in life. I would think about decisions and events… it was amazing how far back I was willing to go in the time machine.  Way, way back folks. That is like erasing your whole life. That is crazy and ill-advised.

Zen really helps fight the WACASA.

My Mom is a wise lady. She has these little sayings that kind of help in times of crisis or sadness. She is very masterful in knowing when you need a hug or a good swift kick in the derriere and knows how to administer both.

Life goes on.

My Mom

Something happens after you turn 40. On the one hand everything that happened in the first 40 years has kind of dictated your current everyday living (read The Grind for further details) with the other hand being that there is some light at the end of the tunnel in which you are now considering what you will do in the second act of life. It is a time for thought not necessarily action. This can be a difficult time if you are like me, a little restless and craving adventure.

This is the time for Zen.

It really is the little things/stuff that matters. It is a recurrent theme in my blogs. I always need to remind myself.

I don’t have any children, but my friend’s children have been pretty fun along the way.

Kids seem to live the Zen way until we adults re-program them.

They speak the truth and tell it like it is. They cry and get mad and melt down and then they get over it and go out to play. They live in the moment. They forgive and forget. They make do with what they have. You got a stick? I have a ball…let’s play stickball!

These are the things that typically are not for sale but come free as long as you are present and available.

Zen baby.

(I got the present and available idea from an interview that Charlie Rose did with Bill Murray and Bill was explaining his amazing career…something to the effect that “he was present and available.” I think the interview can be found on Netflix. It’s worth a look.)

It is better to travel well than to arrive.


It is a very difficult task to live in the moment if you are a planner. In my family, arriving on time means arriving ten minutes early. Trust me, if I give you directions you will not become lost. Sometimes the ‘plan’ gets in the way of the actual doing.

Not all planning is bad.

In modern times, it is essential to plan a little bit especially if you are a woman with good genetics. I mean, I don’t want to have to eat cat food as an old woman because I am broke and didn’t plan ahead. Luckily, I have a trusted friend and financial advisor who takes care of all of that for me.  I just have the dough siphoned off before I see it and figure it’s in good hands (not mine.)

What is the Boy Scout motto? Be prepared.

Be a Zen Boy Scout. That would be good.

The End

P.S.   So, I bought myself a new Buddha statue. It’s a happy one. I also got one for a friend for her birthday. It has a belly you can rub for good luck. I hope she likes it.





I recently had my hair done.  My friend and stylist was telling me about an interesting woman that she had just met. She prefaced the story by asking me if I was okay with ‘woo-hoo’ hippy vibe stuff. I said, “Sure, I am a little woo-hoo myself.” So anyway this woman was very interesting and they had a great visit. As she was leaving she told her “Ask the Universe, and the Universe will answer.”  Hmmm…okay.

So we talked about what that meant and basically concluded that you have to be aware of stuff to figure stuff out. I know, super deep! At which point we made funny jokes about the people or things in our life that require answers from the Universe.

Yesterday I received my answer from the Universe.


It started like this.

I was hanging out with my sister listening to a great band and having a few beers. It was the Wing-Ding-Fling-Thing at the Wheelhouse.  All of the usual suspects were there.  We laughed, sang, danced a little (not as much as usual because it was raining and I was wearing a white shirt and was trying to not become obscene.) The last song played as an encore was Helter Skelter. One of the guys we were hanging out with asked me if I knew what/who that song was about.  I said, “Charles Manson!” I got it right, Yay! Then I was asked if I knew what In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida was about.  No clue. Hmm, let me think about this.  They said it real, real slow.  In…A…Gadda…Da…Vida.  In my Corona Light enlightened state I said, “Something to do with Good vs. Evil.” They said, “You are so close, but nope that’s not it.” They told me it is an Iron Butterfly song famous for two things, it is super long and it was supposed to be titled In the Garden of Eden but the guy who wrote it was smashed and was a little slurry and it came out In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida instead. The band liked it that way better and kept it.

I can see how that could happen.  I sometimes say things differently after a few beers too, and sometimes I get an accent.  Anyway…

For the large part I have given up on daytime television of any sort.  Too depressing! But I do sometimes watch the Dan Patrick Show.  It was a busy week and I didn’t get to tune in as much as usual.  But as I was puttering around my house and getting ready for work I heard Dan Patrick mention In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida. Then they cut to a commercial and I missed finding out whether it was a reference to the length of the song or about the happy accident of making something fabulous while being hammered. Still, it got my attention.

I am Facebook friends with Anthony Bourdain.  Well, let me clarify.  I am Facebook friends with Anthony Bourdain, he is not Facebook friends with me. He recently posted some tunes that were his faves and gave a shout out to his dad for dutifully taking him to an Iron Butterfly Concert. There you have it again…In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida.

Anthony Bourdain is living the life I wish I had…traveling, writing, eating and meeting interesting people. His book Kitchen Confidential is a great read.

All of a sudden it struck me as weird and possibly relevant. I had never even heard of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida and now it is everywhere.  Is it a sign? What does it mean?

It’s the Universe.

I am actually fairly content right now and am not aware that I have been asking the Universe any questions. What do you do when the Universe answers anyway? I feel compelled to listen.

In a gadda da vida, honey Don’t you know that I’m lovin’ you In a gadda da vida, baby Don’t you know that I’ll always be true         

-Iron Butterfly

I kind of like having the answer before I know the question. That leaves it open to interpretation.  Here is my question. “What’s next?”

It’s time to let go! It’s time to get out there and live with passion and see what happens…the spontaneous version may end up way better that the original plan.

In a gadda da vida baby, in a gadda da vida.












Baste, Stir, Taste…Repeat

I drive 45 minutes each way to get my dry cleaning done.

I know, it seems nuts right? But here is the deal, I wear a white lab coat at work almost every day. (It is either wear the lab coat or dress up. Let me tell you a good lab coat can hide a multitude of sins.) I like them to be super starchy, almost to the point that they can stand up on their own.

Not all laundries can make that happen.  Stannard Laundry in Oshkosh, WI can make it happen.

I met one of the owners at a 4th of July BBQ a few years ago.  (If you are reading my blog, it is the same party that was mentioned in Nothing, Absolutely Nothing but a different year.) I was introduced to him as his most loyal customer at which point I explained my commute to his business in search of the world’s greatest starched white lab coat.

After a few minutes of general chit-chat and assuring him I wasn’t a total nut, we ended up having a nice talk. It turns out there is a secret…they use real starch. They also have great service, quick turn around and I have become friends with the staff.  As an aside, the owner is also an Ironman.  (I like this as it would seem that to be an Ironman a person must be dedicated, persistent, as well as physically and mentally strong.)

This has me thinking about Loyalty. What makes someone loyal? Is it the test of time? Consistency? Quality?

For years and years I went to the same dentist…Dr. Vu.  Then I moved and it became more difficult to see him.  I would still go but my visits became less frequent. Finally, he told me I should just bite the bullet and get a dentist in the town where I live.  I thought about it and did.  I have been seeing ‘the new guy’ now for a few years.  He is an Ironman too. Weird, huh?

Friendship is a weird loyalty thing too.  I have friends from childhood, school, working at the Harbor Bar, hair salon, golf…

I don’t really know some of these people very well anymore. They could be terrible people. As in serial killers.  All I know is that we have a blast whenever we get together. Some of them I see only once a year or once every two years.

When we get together it is like zero time has passed and we tell each other everything (even deep dark secrets) and have complete trust in each other.  It is an amazing thing.

Family is interesting. Of course like every family, we have our moments…some good, some bad.

Here is the golden rule:

Only I can speak ill of my family. If anybody else does, then be prepared to die a slow and painful death. That my friends, is Loyalty.

It would seem that there is a recipe for Loyalty.

  1. Start with quality ingredients.
  2. Let it age 20-30 years. Baste with cold beer. Stir vigorously once or twice a year. (My batch prefers background music of live classic rock tunes.)  *(The volume may decrease over time, but the final product will be full of flavor.)
  3. New ingredients may be added as desired.
  4. Don’t be surprised if other people don’t like/understand the final product.
  5. This last item is the most important.  Sometimes it tastes better than others. Forgive it. Keep basting, keep stirring. Taste again later. Sometimes taste buds get out of whack. Sometimes the product is missing an ingredient. Don’t give up on it.
  6. Repeat step 1 and so on.

I am looking forward to testing my recipe on Loyalty very soon. I will keep you posted of any new developments. I hope the recipe works for you too. Enjoy.















I Never Thought I’d Raise a Heathen

My handbag with Pope Francis blessed rosary.
My handbag with Pope Francis blessed rosary.

I had a near miss this week.

It was my late night at work and I was headed home. I drive this route endlessly and can do it in my sleep. I saw the road work ahead signs as I entered the on ramp. Little did I know and apparently nobody else did either that what is usually three lanes of traffic very quickly became one. There were all sorts of cars swerving, breaking, weaving as fast cars and slower cars all got merged…it could have been the Big One. Here’s the interesting part. We all miraculously merged and kept going on our way.

I am pretty sure it was divine intervention. I was saying to myself, “thank you, thank you, thank you Lord.” Was it because I had my rosary blessed by Pope Francis in my purse?

How did a rosary blessed by Pope Francis end up in my purse?

It’s a long story…

The first eighteen years of my life I attended Catholic Church every Sunday, sitting in the first or second pew with my Mom and sisters. Every Wednesday I would attend CCD with all of the other Catholic kids and we would learn about God stuff. It was tricky because there are some really good God stories, but then there are all the rules and regulations. It was hard to go “all in” because it just seemed so 16th century. But we were a tight bunch and there were some perks. In gym class when the teachers forced us to choose teams (barbaric) I would certainly have been chosen last because I suck at anything to do with catching or throwing or hitting a ball, but because of my CCD connection I would usually get chosen third from the end instead.

One time I had to miss church with the family so my Mom dropped me off to go to Mass by myself at a different time. I waited for her to leave and then walked over to my friend Elaine’s family drug store and had a soda at the soda fountain and hung out. My Mom walked into the drugstore. Busted! She just said, “Let’s go.” Everyone knew I was in big trouble. The whole day my Mom said nothing to me. And I mean nothing. Silent treatment. Brutal. I am more of a hot blooded angry person and I just let it out and everyone knows why I am mad and how it could be fixed. Not my Mom. Silence. Later that night, I went into the kitchen to find her. She was washing dishes and crying. She said to me, “I never thought I’d raise a heathen.” Ouch! I felt awful, apologized, cried and still feel bad 35 years later.

There was some kind of funny stuff associated with growing up Catholic. My sisters and I would play “Communion.” My Mom makes these really good sliced cucumbers in vinegar and we would say, “Body of Christ” and “Amen” and then place the cucumber on the persons tongue. We were weird.

I had non-Catholic friends who wanted to taste the Communion wafer. Sometimes they would go to Church with me and I would save my communion wafer and we would split it. There is nothing like the cardboard wafer being stuck to the roof of your mouth and you can’t pick at it so you wait for it to melt.

I liked other religions too. I would sometimes go with a friend to the synagogue. I remember the Rabbi and his brother Howard. Rabbi Mel did a great talk and used modern day events from Newsweek to make his point. I was impressed. Plus, we always went to Burger King afterward and since there wasn’t one in our little town… it was awesome! I still like those chicken sandwiches even though they are terrible nutrition wise.

My first year home from college I tended bar and worked Fri and Saturday nights, and Sunday days. (The dreaded 2-10 shift. Seriously people, it’s time to go home around 6pm.) Anyway, Church was kind of out and my Mom let it go.

So over the next 25 years it’s kind of been a hit or miss thing with going to Church.

I have been to a few that were kind of interesting and left a lasting impression.

I went to an Episcopalian Church in Omaha, Nebraska with some good friends. It was very similar to the Catholic Church with a modern vibe. I knew all of the songs. Plus, they still had the kneelers which I really liked. The whole kneeling thing is a great short term suffering experiment. It is both a physical fitness contest and a test of wills. My butt did not hit the pew.

When I lived in Oshkosh, Wisconsin I went to the First Congressional Church with Pastors Carol and Ralph DiBasio-Sayder. They were really good speakers. I remember a sermon where Pastor Ralph was discussing the film Lars and the Real Girl. If you get a chance, it’s on Netflix, check it out. It is a quirky little film about community, acceptance, friendship and the power of love. Plus, Ryan Gosling is in it.

Years later I would attend a funeral for a young person who had died very suddenly and tragically. Pastor Ralph spoke at the service and was very compassionate and caring. I wept like a baby. I think he is a person who really gets it.

Somewhere along the line I found a few Saints who have really helped me along the way. For those of you who are reading my blog you know I have bought and sold a few houses along the way. Saint Joseph has helped me each time. He is on loan right now, but usually he is on the shelf with Saint Rita. Saint Rita is the Patron Saint of Impossible Causes. So, of course I identified with her immediately. She has really helped me out over the years.

The icon on the shelf was given to me by my beloved Aunt Ginny in 1998, the year I bought my first home. It hung for 15 years in her home in Winthrop, WA and has a faded edge from where the sun hit it. It is the ‘Black Madonna’: Our Lady of Czechoslovakia (the original dating back to the year 1382.) It is dark in color from the years of candles burning in front of it. The slashes on her face were made by a soldier during a war. It is said that the soldier dropped dead after his sword hit the image.

Serious mojo.

Back to the rosary. I visited the Vatican in the late nineties. I wanted to get a blessed rosary but at the time I was broke and thought that it was probably a whim anyway. This past winter a retired optometrist who fills in sometimes went on an Italy trip. He came back with rosaries for the entire staff. One of the opticians is not religious in any way and thought that I would like it better so she tried to give it to me. I was very resistant because it wasn’t meant for me. She insisted. So, I accepted it and Pope Francis has been with me since. The doctor heard about the gift and insisted I keep it and also insisted the optician accept one too! We both did.

So far this year Pope Francis and I have been to a Pink concert, Mexico, a major road trip to Charlotte, NC and Atlanta, GA as well as the every- day driving I do…. I really like having him with me.

He is a cool cat. He must be driving his handlers crazy. I love that too.

My near miss occurred on Wednesday. Yesterday two dear friends of mine very narrowly missed being severely injured. Tonight is the night I say a few of my Saint Rita’s and am thankful for being alive and well.

And that is the story of Gypsy Girl Jilly and the Pope Francis rosary.


Nothing, Absolutely Nothing.

I want to start a new trend.

I want to make being a total and complete sloth a celebrated event. It should be okay and desirable to be able to report that not a single thing was accomplished on the weekend.

Somewhere along the line I got brainwashed into thinking that I really should be doing something fabulous pretty much every moment of every day.  It’s not happening for me, and even if it did, I don’t like doing fabulous things all of the time.

I need some down time.

Years ago on the 4th of July I went to an Indian wedding, a sailing club BBQ and fireworks, followed by a carnival.  This is what my sister calls, “putting 10lbs of shit into a 5lb sack.”  Not to state the obvious but clearly it all doesn’t fit in. I was having fun at the wedding and had a great outfit but had to leave to go to the BBQ.  No chance to change into my cute red, white and blue outfit so I there I was in my fancy silk printed skirt and sandals dancing in the grass. Which was fine until we had to leave to supposedly watch the fireworks from a better spot, but we left too late and watched most of them through the sunroof of my car, which was being driven by someone other than myself who was watching the fireworks instead of driving and we were all screaming “Watch the road!”  I was then coerced into going to the Carnival across the street but it was late and it was crazy and I was still in my fancy outfit and just couldn’t take it anymore.  I went home exhausted and completely fed up.

Here is another one for you.

Picture a long weekend in the Bahamas, staying on a sailboat.  The day before you leave starts out with a walk on the beach, followed by some beers and time at the pool, followed by a game of chess and cheese and crackers on the deck of the boat, followed by a reservation at the one and only nice restaurant on the island…. But wait! At the last minute, just as the romance was getting started….a crusty sailor named Uncle Bob sticks his head into your window and asks if you want to go to a really great party.  You and your sweetheart put on some clothes and get on a boat with Uncle Bob and another couple and you are off to another island. The great party is super loud techno music with food that has flies buzzing all around.  The party animals you are with love it and you stay for a long, long time. There is another stop at another island. You can’t beat them so at this point you are drinking just to survive. This is a true story.  At multiple points in the trip I would ask myself, “I wonder if I could make it if I jump off the boat and start swimming for shore.” This is a clear example of how doing many things doesn’t add up to a meaningful experience.

I can’t blame it on others. I do it to myself.

Saturday started with a trip with my sister to a friend’s house to dig up plants- a whole bunch of hostas, tiger lilies, peonies, etc… really good stuff. It took a while and there were lots of mosquitoes. We then went to our respective homes and planted and watered all of the plants.  It was 80 degrees and hot.  Then we quick took showers, picked up some sandwiches for lunch, got on the boat and relaxed, read and swam for a few hours.  Went back home and got ready to go out to dinner (full hair and make-up) with some friends and to listen to some live music.  It was fun.

Was it enough? I didn’t go to Paris, go sailing, make the world a better place, grow or eat organic food….

Twenty years ago I would have been exhausted sleeping until noon and just doing the boating stuff.  Followed by a nap, no dinner, and going out to the bars until 2am.

In college and a few years afterward we used to lay around watching television all day Sunday.  We had zero guilt about doing nothing. Even if it was a beautiful sunny day. We would lie around watching PBS learning how to garden, paint, cook, etc…. but really we were just vegetating and doing nothing.  Kind of like sleeping, except we were awake.

Yesterday was Sunday. My sister and I planted some more plants, took the dogs for a walk and then…..thank God it rained. A lot.  That made it ok to take naps and watch old movies.  Jaws was on.  I watched some of it but decided to turn the channel because I am still a bit nervous swimming in the ocean.  That movie ruined me.

So what has happened? Why is the need to do something, be productive, have something to show for it mentality stuck in my head? I don’t like it.  I like reading books, listening to music, going to movies and taking naps. That should be allowed on days off, right?

When someone asks you, “What did you do this weekend?” a great answer would be “Nothing, absolutely nothing.” That would be an answer worth celebrating.