cat yawning

RRRRRAWR! (Actually, that’s just him yawning. But doesn’t he look fierce? I need me some of that.)

napping with cat

Seriously, though – very lazy day. Lots of napping going on. Laziness. Good for me.

napping with cat

Made a frittata (below). Was trying to improve on my own technique, after sampling someone else’s at brunch. Very satisfying.

Do you ever do that? Try something for yourself, when no-one’s looking? I had an idea about the frittata – a way that I wanted to cook it, that might be an improvement. Fun to experiment…


My #photo365 project on Tumblr.

where i want to be right now

cats on bed 1

I have a pinboard on Pinterest called “Where I want to be right now.”

(If you click on that link in the previous sentence, you can visit. Highly recommended, because I’ll bet you’d like to be some of those places right now, too.)

Where I’d like to be right now, though, is in bed. And I was there, until about half an hour ago. (I’m writing this on Tuesday night at 8:00 p.m.)

cats on bed 2

It’s been a rough few days. I had bad migraines and endo pain on the weekend, which have left me exhausted and depleted. Then last night I went to bed quite late, and woke up quite early. So when I got home from work tonight, I decided to listen to my body and rest for a few minutes. Which turned into an hour. And a half. The last half of which I spent in a crazy-dozy half-awake state, running through the list of reasons why I shouldn’t get up again.

cats on bed 3

So I’m going back there… very soon…

(I appreciate beds. And sleeping companions with purr-y sound f/x.)

cats on bed 4

cats on bed 5

cats on bed 6

the best day

birthday cards

It was my birthday a couple of days ago. I’m kind of funny about birthdays – I like them to be as perfect as possible. So over the years I’ve tried to create the circumstances that will likely lead to the greatest possible enjoyment on my special day.


My perfect day consists of:

  • Waking whenever I feel like it.
  • Having absolutely nothing that I have to do.
  • Doing yoga.
  • Eating amazing, nourishing food.
  • Lazing in bed or napping if I want to.
  • Reading a lot. Soulful magazines are a favorite choice.
  • Watching movies.
  • Having a bath or two.


So on my birthday I promised myself I wouldn’t do anything I didn’t want to do. I decided not to work on the computer. I bought a bunch of favorite magazines (a rare treat) the day before, and read them all in bed.

I cooked amazing meals, had two baths (morning and night), did yoga, and napped three or four times. (Seriously.)

vegetable stew

I also played with my cats a lot, and stayed up late watching two movies. It was the best day.

cat eating green beans


my bed after a nap

Is there anything like a nap? I know napping is supposed to be bad sleep hygiene… but can’t resist the luxury of briefly (or not-so-briefly) sleeping at a time when I don’t normally sleep.

My family has always been full of nappers. I grew up witnessing my father and mother unapologetically napping on weekend afternoons (or during the week, if they happened to be home). Grandparents, aunts, uncles… all nappers. When I was a child it seemed like a strange disease of older people, until I became a university student. Then, for weeks at a time, I couldn’t get through a single day without nodding off at least once before bedtime.

Naps are a treat for me – a symbol of leisure that I can rarely afford now, in my busy life. So I spend my time lavishly on them, the rare moments when I can.


The first nap I remember: I am two years old, in the back seat of a car. I have my head on the lap of a woman who is not my mother, and I am pretending to sleep. Sometimes I’m not pretending. Through my closed eyelids I can see brilliant orange-red light from the sunny summer day, and I’m wishing this would be over.


I’m five years old, in my kindergarten classroom. Once again, I’m pretending to sleep. The teacher, Mrs. Murray, (one of my favorite teachers ever, although maybe everyone loves their kindergarten teacher?) has us lying in a circle, with the overhead lights turned off. We are not supposed to talk or move. I lie on my stomach, bury my head in my arms, and wish this were over.


I’m in my late teens, home from school with a headache. I get a lot of headaches, although I won’t learn for another ten years that they’re actually migraines. When they get really bad, I have my mom pick me up from school in the middle of the day and bring me home. She goes back to work, leaving me alone. I sleep in the sunshine in the living room, on the sofa with the slippery velvet upholstery. I dream that I’m trying to leave my body, but strange, faceless forces keep taunting me and sucking me downward. I wake up frightened, and hot.


I’m in second year university, and I still haven’t figured out how to arrange my classes so that I don’t have long, uninterrupted stretches of time between lectures. I live an hour’s bus ride away from campus and can’t go home, so I hide out in the library to pass the time. My favorite spot is the periodicals section. There are deep, cushiony armchairs lined up facing the few windows that provide a view of the outdoors. I sit with my feet on the air re-circulating unit like everyone else, reading magazines and listening to music on my portable CD player. Sooner or later I always fall asleep, jolting awake every now and then to wonder if I’ve missed my class.


I’m sitting in my car, beside a quiet park. I clean houses all day, every weekday. Sometimes I have a hour between clients, and when I do, I like to do something restful. Every other Wednesday I sit in my car beside this park, and read. In the summer the car gets hot, and I get drowsy. I set the alarm on my watch (I still wear a watch – and will until I get my first BlackBerry, three or four years from now), so I wake up in time to drive to my next job. I like the breeze that blows through the car when both the windows are down.


I’m at M’s house, visiting for the weekend. It’s hard dating someone who lives 90 km away. I want to cram so much living into the times that we’re together. We lie on his bed, napping in the late afternoon dimness after working hard all day on one of his many home improvement projects. A fan blows on us, because M is always too warm. His grandmother naps in the other room, and I feel complete.


I’m dog sitting in the Big House, which is what I call this overnight client in the Bridle Path neighbourhood – an exclusive area of Toronto. Somebody laughs at me on Facebook, telling me that “Big House” is slang for prison. My Big House feels nothing like a prison, though; it’s one of my favorite places to be. Not because it’s large (although it is very large), or because it’s on 4 acres of land in the middle of the city (which makes it feel like it’s anywhere but the city), but because when I’m here, everything is golden. I nap on the kingsize master bed, which is a Tempurpedic. There are windows on two sides, and sunlight streams across my smiling face. The dogs – a golden lab and a rottweiler mix – sleep with me, on either side of the bed. I’m in heaven.


I’m home from work on a weekday. I have a brutal migraine, and my intention is to go directly to bed. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200. After throwing up several times, I fall into an uneasy slumber. I dream crazy dreams. Every time I wake up, I’m aware of the exact moment that dreaming has turned to consciousness, because pain and nausea descend again like a guillotine. It will be another month before a colleague suggests that I try taking Gravol for the nausea. The Gravol will work, but it will turn my sleep into a numb catatonia.


I’m lying on my current bed on a Sunday afternoon. I love my bedroom so much – maybe even more than the master bedroom at the Big House. There’s nothing in here but a bed and a lamp and a few old magazines that I’ve been scanning in a desultory kind of way. The cats are with me, always. They’re never allowed in this room unless I’m here, because they claw the sheets to shreds when I’m not watching. So when I nap, it’s their favorite place to be. I watch the way their slinky bodies melt into the white sheets, completely relaxed. Life is good.

cats napping

©2011, Michelle Lynne Goodfellow. All rights reserved.