The passing and use of time. It's become such a dominant topic of contemplation. At first it was a daily slap in the face as I repeatedly managed to arrive at places when they were closed. Time and time again, after seemingly maticulous care in getting the timing right, I'd get it wrong. But we're past that now.
And we're past acceptance. That point when the quirky hours have finally registered and we just learn to deal. The time when we remind ourselves to do some extra shopping on Saturday to carry us through to Monday afternoon. The time when I was still aware of the shift in temporal dynamics and felt a great sense of accomplishment in having discovered the proper strokes to get my boat with the flow.
Now we're here. And here is something more pleasurable. The peace in my body when my mind resisters chores piling up by Sunday night, after a weekend of homework and random family fun. A ease that registers from knowing that there's Monday for housework. Because it knows nothing else can be done, no shopping, errands or anything from outside the house really. It's all closed, and time is decidedly down time.
Just like Sunday has shifted to family. We're here, taking pleasure in these pockets of time that seem to have presented themselves from nothing. Perhaps a forced hand that carries the lingering stench of Catholic righteousness... but a result that finds me enjoying a better use of time.