Saturday and Sunday Sadnesses

Yesterday I was filled with a variety of vague sadnesses:  nothing too debilitating, but they stuck with me.  I started the day by needing to clean up my coffee beverage, not once, but twice.  The first time the mug slipped out of my hand, but it fell into a box of plastic bags that we collect until we take them to the recycling area at the grocery store--so it wasn't as messy as it could have been.  The second time, when I reheated it in the microwave, the coffee in the mug boiled over, and I gave the microwave an overdue cleaning.

To laugh or cry?  I confess I did a bit of both, and that mood continued through the day.  My old school had a round of lay-offs on Tuesday--I'm happy to be gone, but sad for those left behind.  And on Wednesday, some of us who once worked together gathered to watch the lake and the sunset as we had wine and nibbles.  It was nice, but it makes me sad that it takes so much coordinating to find time to be together.  Yesterday morning, we watched a PBS cooking show set on the banks of the Chesapeake, which made me miss my family and the times we sailed there.

This morning, as if to mock my sadnesses of yesterday, the AC seems not to be working .  The air that's coming out of the vents is not cool and the fan blade outside is not turning.  I decided to let my spouse sleep a bit before we see if it's something easy that we could fix or not.  And then, to call the AC repair folks today or let it wait so as not to pay the cost for an emergency visit on the week-end.  We could just move into the cottage for a bit.

I feel this sense of despair about getting one home repair done, just to face something else, one bit of organizing done which just leads to piles of other things to sort.  But let me remember the quiet graces of the past 24 hours:  the long nap of yesterday afternoon, the delicious garlic scallop pasta dish we made last night, and the delightful and spiritual conversation that Krista Tippett had with Martin Sheen on this morning's episode of On Being.