Observation Deck – Working on Sundays

We should be outside by now.

We should be outside by now.

Our Sunday morning routine has changed.

Usually the parrot and I are out early so I can write in the relative coolness of early morning and she can visit with all of her friends – the cardinals, the blue jays, the doves, the mockingbirds, the squirrels who come by our feeders every morning.

It’s a pleasant time, quiet, undisturbed except for a wave from the occasional jogger. I write, she sings, and then when it starts to get hot it’s time to come in and for me to get ready for Mass. After Mass, Hubby has a fabulous breakfast waiting. Sundays are one of my favorite days.

This morning I’ve done laundry, emptied the dishwasher. I’m writing, but indoors instead of our garden paradise.

The parrot thinks I’ve lost my mind. She has run through her entire repertoire of chirps, whistles, songs, vocabulary. She calls me “Baby” when she wants something and right now she wants me to take her outside. I’ve explained that I want to be outside too, but I have to get ready for work. I promised her we would do our garden time when I get home. She doesn’t get it.

Neither do the squirrels. While I was emptying the dishwasher I looked outside the kitchen window and saw the triplets waving at me (we have a pair who visit together and the triplets who are regulars). They looked at me, at their empty bowl, at each other as if to say “Shouldn’t you be out here by now?”

Yes, I should. And I want to be. But someone has to buy those peanuts and bird seed. They don’t just appear out of thin air.

So our usually calm and quiet Sunday morning is full of angst on all sides.

I’m grateful for the extra hours (especially at weekend rate) after a couple of lean years of cutbacks, but I miss the extra life I used to have. But fewer hours were not keeping up with rising gas prices, food prices, everything prices, so this is a blessing. And I’m grateful. It’s easier to get things done at the office on Sundays with far fewer interruptions. I’m grateful that it’s every other Sunday instead of every single one, but that just adds to the discombobulation. The good thing is, my wonderful husband, God bless him, gets up early to make breakfast for us before I go to work (and this is a special labor of love because he is not a morning person).

I volunteered. I have only myself to blame. My boss would have come in but she has enough to worry about.

My Sunday morning prayer: Dear Lord, please let at least one of these screenplays/novels/essays sell for enough that I can quit my day job and write all day instead of working all day and writing all night. Please let me get cast in something that pays the bills. Or whatever you have in mind for me that I haven’t thought of yet. Or things I’ve thought of but don’t see a way to get to from here. And please Lord, let it not be raining when I get home from work or I will have one pissed-off parrot! Amen.

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