I sit and sigh.
Not a sad sigh.
Was she fifty too? I remember her as older than that.
Actually she was…in her seventies…and my childhood saviour but that’s another story.
That’s what bought her to mind though tonight. My sigh as I sat on the couch. A mixture of pleasure and tiredness at the end of the week.
I think of all the practical things I haven’t done that should have been done by now. And all the things I must do this weekend.
I look at all the blog posts, and on-line journals and books I have kept to read when I have the time and energy to pay attention. The second sigh happens. Again not sad but rather…hmmm…weary.
I’m not complaining mind for I am happy. And its happiness well appreciated, well-earned and I try to pass it on every day.
It’s just that I work full-time in a field that requires much. I am happy to give that much. But…
I’m a single mum of a seventeen year old nearly man in his final year of high school who’s busting to leave and ‘start his life’ and less willing, much less willing to follow my advice. He’s not rude, never agro. Just quietly stubborn requiring negotiation skills that would make me extremely successful at the United Nations.
And a psychotic but gorgeous natured dog, and a cat that thinks he’s in the jungle and we are his prey. And a fourteen year old god-daughter who has me worried right now. And…
Did I tell you I’m menopausal?
So I sit and sigh now it’s Friday night.
And I wonder if my Aunties sigh also included in the mixture,
as in mine,
the beautiful sense of peaceful happiness that my life is right now. What a pleasurable weariness :).
Worth working for.