Kage Baker would call this a free Sunday. She looked for those; days that fell out of the regular round of duty, responsibility and requirement, and opened doors into otherwise-inaccessible dimensions of relaxation. Duty-free in all meanings of the words – nothing to pay, nothing to justify, nothing about which one need feel guilty.
That’s a good thing, because I remain steadfastly in my pajamas and the closest I have gotten to a socially redeemable action today is brushing my teeth. And I used an electric tooth brush, so my personal effort was minimal, he he he.
But it’s early yet in December, and here at Chez Famille we are more or less caught up on deco. The lights are up on the outside – a wonderful frost tree effect! – there are garlands and candles on the inside, and it’s too early for the tree. (It goes up on the 15th.) We’ve got UCB ornaments plugged into every computer. It’s cold and grey outside, so we are all forted up with warmth and flickering light sources to stimulate the primitive reptilian brain into blinking contentment. And muffins. And cookies. And red and green M&Ms.
I ought to be at Dickens, making art with my near and dear. At the very least, I ought to feel bad about not being there. But it is now the third day since my surgery, and I have hit that famous wall of Day Three Syndrome. This too was one of Kage’s theories, and one pretty well held up by experience. Round about the third day after an injury or surgery is when one feels the worst – the stiffest, the sorest, the most incapacitated.
The delirious joy of pain waning and strength waxing has died back a little. Swelling has gone down (or come up), allowing bleeding to increase or stiffness to spread. Mysterious bruises develop like demonic Polaroids. And all the anesthesia has worn off. It’s perfectly bearable – especially if one is expecting it – but it does put a bit of a crimp in one’s joyous capering.
Mind you, I’m not supposed to be capering in the first place, but come on – get real. A certain amount of capering is just unavoidable. Especially when the Christmas deco is up and blinking, and the smells of cranberries muffins and sausage are currently spreading through the house. My UCB toy is a tiny Christmas tree made of fibre optic, which is going though lovely psychedelic waves of colour on top of Kage’s Nebula (an effect I heartily recommend for visual interest, BTW).
For me, some mild capering and a lot of sitting still is what’s needed today. I can put my feet up and trade the capering for some Yuletide hand-jive. That amuses the parrot, for one thing, and the Corgi watches intently in the hope the famed primate grip will fail and edibles will come raining down on deserving little golden dogs …
By next week, I will be restored to something much closer to operational status than I have enjoyed in months. I can go to Dickens Fair next week, and maybe actually graduate from being deco to being some sort of performer. Even the livelier babies have been outdoing me, as they grow from props to special effects … but now I’m getting better!
It’ll make for a better last weekend of Fair for my folks, too. They won’t have to worry about finding a box big enough to pack me, as well as all the china in the Welsh cabinet.
Yep, a free Sunday is good for everyone now and then.