And then there are days like this...

I've been thinking a lot about what we all call busy-ness--and resolving to avoid using that word, to be more present to each moment as it comes, and yet I manage to keep getting caught in that net: keeping promises and doctor's appointments, keeping clothes and house and car clean enough to pass.

"What are you doing?" we ask each other.  In reply, we either use the word, busy, or we recount all the things we've been doing--as if we get extra credit for accomplishing a lot.

On Sundays I am rarely busy and sometimes find myself prey to the rare feeling of loneliness.  Solitude is one thing; loneliness is another.

Loneliness has its own anatomy.  It creeps up.  It strikes out of nowhere.  It hulks around, menacing, throwing cold water on projects that just hours before were colored with energy and enthusiasm.  It engenders self-pity for no particular reason. It convinces you that you are peripheral to everyone else's life--though you know deep down that this is not entirely true.

"But this is the kind of day you've been waiting for!" part of me says to the whining part of me that's wallowing, "A day to just relish spending the day with a good book!"

Sundays are usually the days when the door is open to Loneliness, when Happiness is elusive for a few hours, hidden behind a cloud.  I know this kind of Sunday well, but I also know that by night Loneliness will have tired itself out and gone on down the road.

I tried to remember all the things I've been planning to do when a totally free day arrived: to start walking, to open the Vitamix book and try out some recipes, to organize photos on the computer, to clean out the storage room--as if every blank moment must be filled up.

Finally, I got up and rearranged a few things and organized drawers and hauled  three plastic bags of things to Goodwill. Then I put things on the curb: a basket, an old rug, a screen, a bunch of magazines, some odd candle holders that I never use.

By morning, everything was gone from the curb, just as loneliness had vanished.  By morning, I noticed that every crepe myrtle on the street is in full hot pink bloom and that birds are pecking around the yard looking for bread crumbs, and that Blue, the Mini, is covered with pink.