If you are reading this the day I wrote it, we are both facing down Monday. I am not sure how you feel about Mondays; universally they get a bad rap. But I for one love them. Mondays for me are nearly on par with a birthday, or New Year’s Day. They encourage you to head in a completely new direction.
I swear it smells different to me when I wake up on a Monday morning, as if on cue the dawn rearranged the air particles to make them more hopeful. Sunday night had me looking at Mickey the fish in his bowl and lamenting how I get stuck cleaning it (mostly so the kids don’t send him down the drain). This morning I was telling him how amazing he would feel in new water, underscoring how his scales would benefit from its purity. As I loaded the dishwasher yesterday I wondered how it would all fit (and what the heck we used so many spoons for) and I listened with a slight grimace as the water sprayed the plates and the cutting boards and the silverware, ricocheting off each haphazard surface. However, this morning they were waiting for me, completely clean and dry and I felt grateful to be fully equipped to handle whatever anyone might want to eat or drink today.
I have been eyeing the motley assortment of things we managed to part with this week as it sat at the end of our driveway awaiting trash pickup this morning. We carefully lay out anything we think someone might reuse, organizing them in a way to entice. In a grand flourish years ago, I clothed a piece of plywood my husband cut for my purpose and set out a mock table with plates and bowls we no longer needed. We watched as two ladies put the entire setting, including the “table” into a Jeep. Over the past few days, we watched bikes go along with assorted pieces of wood and metal which had been tucked into corners of the garage and forgotten. Half open and sometimes still sealed odds and ends that spread tendrils over the shelves in the garage chocking out our access to a screw driver or other often used objects were brought down to the street where they were plucked from the sloping display until what remained was gathered in one clean sweep.
Monday is the day I recommit to a routine. It could be exercising, or exfoliating regularly, if I have let it slide, it gets penciled in on Monday morning. The start of my week always sees me trying my best. The weekend feels so far away, you could have been anyone way back then. As strict as it might seem to start reorganizing my life or become a better me in general, there is a gentleness and forgiveness in taking on a new week. The same can be said for you. If last week, or last night even, saw us acting in opposition of our North Star, may we all have the courage and the internal nudge to regroup and start over again. Last night’s triple fudge brownie stacked with salted caramel ice cream, which came on the heels of an indulgent dinner and drinks comes to mind when I think about how my body and mind rebels without the right fuel.
Here’s to us all, may we dig deep and hold close to us the promise of this new week. Optimistically we will unearth gems along the way that sustain us in moving toward what we really want. There is work to be done outside of just dreaming and envisioning it better or different. Though mine started with unstacking those dishes, cleaning the fish bowl and posting this blog it needs to continue with pulling in the garbage cans, odd receptacles of promise that they are. Happy Monday, all!