Sunday jobs for me, finish at around 1pm. The Prof has breakfast in bed, the dogs now have two walks ( a long march for Mary) and a shorted more sedate amble for the old guys. The field animals are fed, the Wreck of the Hesperus which is the kitchen is cleaned , the bed is made and the hoover is trundled out......then lunch is prepared.
Then I sit and read with a coffee.
This is my reward.
We all run on rewards me thinks
And I am getting better at the reward thing......not always using food as thanks for a job well completed.
Now my mother's reward when finishing the jobs of the day was gin. This never worked too well when her rewards were awarded a little too early in an afternoon.
That meant tea time was a sombre and rather quiet affair with mother asleep on the couch.
I think it's the order of the vintage crockery upon the gingam tablecloth on the side that made me recall this somewhat melancholy memory, a little stab of a sharp knife on an otherwise bright and light spring day.
Funny what you remember isnt it?
Then I sit and read with a coffee.
This is my reward.
We all run on rewards me thinks
And I am getting better at the reward thing......not always using food as thanks for a job well completed.
Now my mother's reward when finishing the jobs of the day was gin. This never worked too well when her rewards were awarded a little too early in an afternoon.
That meant tea time was a sombre and rather quiet affair with mother asleep on the couch.
I think it's the order of the vintage crockery upon the gingam tablecloth on the side that made me recall this somewhat melancholy memory, a little stab of a sharp knife on an otherwise bright and light spring day.
Funny what you remember isnt it?
