I wake up, have coffee, and get to the sewing machine. In between those hours of sewing I assist my four-year-old in finding creative things to do, clean the chicken coop, plant more tomato (etc..) seeds into 6-packs and place them on the windowsill. I pick up the older one from school, run an errand or two, come home, clean for a while, throw in a load of laundry or fold one, remind about piano practicing (it's an unarguable must in this house) and all in the in between: cutting log cabin strips and squares, making mistakes in stitching, still learning how to use this machine that I upgraded to a few weeks ago. Quilt after quilt. (They engulf the room in various stages. I'll share them SOON.)
I walk through the house and glance at the finches that found the feeder on the lemon tree. (Need a lemon, by chance? Helllloooo!)) I think about warmer weather and digging into the earth outside for Spring/Summer gardens. What can I say? It's a boring life for some, but it's beyond rich for me. I don't remember a time when I've been more content or (knock on wood) sleeping better. It's a simple life, really. Things are quiet.
I think of all the things I "thought" I should do in the past. I have, like all people, various opportunities throughout the day to make mental decisions about how I want my thinking to stream. Every moment a choice in what I want to believe and what I don't. Lately, it's been quite easy. Feed the cat, set the table for dinner, help a child spell a word or wash her hair, think about things I'd like to embrioder. And so on.