A Day of Nothing

Today was a very untypical day for me. I did absolutely nothing of any merit unless you count the few minutes I used up balancing my bank account and making a grocery list. Oh, and there was the quick trip to pick up my monthly assurance that I will not endure raising another teenager and a quick stop for a chocolate shake.

Other than that, I have nothing to check off on a to do list, and it felt absolutely fantastic. I stayed in my pajamas until well past three, eventually giving those up for some comfy sweat pants and T-shirt. I'm not even sure if I brushed my hair or washed my face this morning. Leftover pizza from last night's outing served as lunch, and the two-day old taco soup was heated up on the stove for dinner.

I spent most of my day reading the latest issue of Cosmo, studying Italian language lessons for my bucket list trip to Italy, playing Scrabble, writing...all with my new best friend the Ipad...and watching some NFL action.

I can remember a time when a day like today would have never happened. Pre- midlife crisis I would spend every waking moment running around like a mad woman trying to earn my domestic goddess badge and mother of the year award. I'm not sure whose expectations those were...mine or those of an imaginary voice telling me that to be still was being lazy.

Thank God I have been delivered from the bondage of such ridiculousness. And the best part is that nobody cared, the little voice I used to hear has been silenced.

Story of My Life?

The end of the year always brings with it a chance for self reflection. Now this can be a good thing unless you begin to fill your mind with the countless what ifs. And let me tell you I am a master at dragging up those missed opportunities, unrealized dreams, and best intentions.

And it doesn't stop with the previous year unfortunately. Sometimes I go decades back to re-examine my past. Of course I know that my life's experiences have made me the person I am today, and all the decisions I've made helped create the life I have now. Okay...whatever.

A famous author once told me that the question "what if" was one the best idea generators for his young adult novels. After considering several of my own...here's the beginning to one possible story of my life. Disclaimer...names have been changed to protect the innocent and some scenes have been fictionalized for effect.

Miranda’s life had been a simple one. After graduating from the American University of Paris, she took a job as an art instructor at Midwestern College and spent most of her weekends volunteering at the McNeill Gallery, a privately owned venture that housed one of the finest collections of impressionist and post-impressionist paintings and sculptures.

In her spare time, she freelanced for style and fashion magazines, and on occasion made time to have dinner with close friends; she rarely dated and was quite content in her downtown loft with her cat, Azure, her paints and easel, and volumes of classic literature.

Miranda usually worked Saturday afternoons at the McNeill; she often found herself standing in the Rose Wing of the gallery lost in Renoir’s landscapes and nudes. The heavy, thick brushstrokes in oil on ancient canvas were hypnotic like fine wine and took her back to Montmarte where so many greats had sat along the Seine capturing the daily life of ordinary French men and women as they came and went.

It was there in the Rose Wing that he first captured her attention – Alonso Romaro, the oldest son of a wealthy, private collector, who had flown in from Columbia to view the gallery’s collection. Her life would never be the same.