I started out the weekend with a cold. I absolutely hate being sick. The degrees of sickness are irrelevant; I turn into a big baby and curl up with a blanket and write love songs to NyQuil. I eat comfort foods and wear my comfort clothes. For me, that means eating cereal every other meal and sporting an old college t-shirt which has exactly three holes and two stains. Since I was fighting this horrid cold (sidenote: sometimes I like using words like horrid and chap because it makes me feel British and sophisticated. I neither am British nor sophisticated), I was perfectly content to sit on the sofa in my old t-shirt and yoga pants and read my new book Friday through Sunday. But my husband reminded me that we originally planned to go on a picnic over the weekend. We planned this picnic as a date night and because summer was slipping away without us doing many summer-y activities.
So this past weekend I forfeited my sick day activities for a little while as we tried to hang onto summer. Since I actually wasn’t feeling very well and the heat was lethal outside, we decided to have the picnic in proximity to tissues and air conditioning. We waited until it cooled off a little, laid a blanket on the back porch, lit candles, and fixed sandwiches. We sipped sweet tea out of mason jars while listening to James Taylor and counted our blessings. And I am so glad my love songs to NyQuil were temporarily interrupted because a picnic on the porch was the perfect tribute to summer’s end.
The best parts of life happen in the interruptions.