Today is a Fairy Day.
What's that, you ask? A fairy day is one where I'm free to go flitting about wherever I please. Well, anywhere within an enchanted 15-mile radius.
I can walk to the Farmer's Market while admiring Victorian and Craftsman houses on either side of sycamore-lined streets. Then perhaps the cheerful vendors will sell me purple violas which I'll plant in my fairy garden (so-called because only the little people tend it, not I).
Maybe I'll drive to Salvation Army to paw through dusty books of a different century and find a perfect gift for my friend who loves old stories best. Then I could pick up lunch at a drive-through window, take it to the sleepy blue river and munch and read the hour away. The kite fliers may be there today with their crazy twisting kites intermingling with sea gulls. Who knows?
Or I could stay home and putter amongst our whimsical belongings. Turn my drawers into funky treasure chests for those who will buy or inherit my things when I am gone. Maybe I'll even paint a room (or at least a wall). I could bake a cake or wash dishes while dreaming of fairy days gone by. And if I take a break, maybe I can fill it with a rerun of The Andy Griffith Show and watch my hero, Aunt Bea.
Or I can wander out to my little bird sanctuary backyard, rest upon the old wooden chair next to lemon balm stems and if I sit still, perhaps the yellow finches will come and share a snack at the cherub bird feeder.
Maybe I'll drive to the exotic supermarket and peek into the lobster tanks after I make my way through the cappucino bar and the foreign-flavored produce section. If I chat with a troubled checker while she bags my groceries, I can tell her I'll pray for her (as I did last week). And then I'll return home, make dinner to share with my husband and wait for the fireflies to dance.
I have many fairy days because I am a homemaker. One of the few, one of the free.
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