Paul got delayed in Vancouver over the weekend (emergency childcare for a granddaughter; taking a daughter to visit his mother as she moves toward palliative care). I stayed on the island with my marking and a determination to get rested as much as I could. I'd originally planned to fit in a yoga class ("in town," across the harbour on "the big island") and to enjoy my usual long weekend run, but my body hinted strongly that it would rather dial the whole activity thing down.
There are no shops on our little island, so no groceries to be had. When someone desperately needs a cup of milk or an onion or some children's Tylenol, we can send out a request on our email listserv and it's very rare that the request isn't answered. But I'd have to be pretty desperate, myself, to resort to that, although I'd call my friend up the road if I were mid-recipe without an egg in the fridge. Friday, having had too busy a day on Thursday to re-up my pantry supplies, I assessed the situation and realized I could probably get by with bacon, eggs, milk, bread, a few tomatoes, and a frozen container of chili that I dug out of the deep-freeze.
All of which meant that I could follow my whims and natural rhythms (except the tedious necessity of those research paper proposals and annotated bibliographies to be marked) and slow right down. My only outings were a walk around the island on Friday and a walk to our little polling station to register my vote on Saturday. Paul's home today, and I expect I'll probably get out for a run later, but even if I don't manage that, I believe the low-activity weekend has been good for body and soul.
Oh, and I did have one more outing, just to the beach outside our front door, with my camera yesterday morning. I love the combination of low tide and sparkling white frost, the sandstone's tawny tones accented sharply green by seaweed -- it's a combination that's seldom offered, low tides generally falling during the night throughout the winter. When it happens on a sunny day, I think it's marvelous, really, a crisp, sparkling, slightly acid beauty.
I did get weary of my simple fare, began craving something sweet, and remembering the huge bag of sliced pears I froze earlier, I made up this simple, luscious upside-down pear cake, pleased to realize we had enough fresh buttermilk. (Don't worry, so far I've only eaten one piece, and Paul will be home soon to take care of the rest.)
Still haven't finished all the marking, but I will manage that today. Instead, I've done some knitting (alternating between two projects: socks on tiny needles, a throw on huge ones). I've hunkered down with a non-work-related novel, Orhan
And I've been listening to the glorious Les Soeurs Bourlay, their Par le chignon du cou (Which would translate roughly as By the Nape of the Neck, and Yes, the YouTube video is French, but just skip the ad, and you'll soon find that the music jumps any language barriers) especially, but I love the whole album Le Poids des confettis (The Weight of confetti).
Oh my gosh, you'll be saying, no wonder she's relaxed and happy. What a lovely weekend!
It's true! How was yours? And I'm curious: would you be as happy as I can be with two whole days completely on your own? Or does the idea make you feel the cabin fever screaming its way out of you? I sometimes wonder when I'd hit my limit of too much solitude, honestly. . . .