Happy Friday friends.

Hope this finds you doing well

Around here with the arrival of new washing machine, I’ve been happily working my way through a mountain of dirty clothes and never been so grateful to do so. Unexpected bonus; she’s teeny tiny compared to our previous so I’ve suddenly got a whole lot of extra room in my laundry to play with. Luxury !

Because its one of my favourite things to do, I’ve rounded up a few good words and reads to keep you company as you end your week and head into your weekend.

So take a few deep breaths, grab something good to drink and enjoy  – – –

A Good Word

A Good Look

Give me books, flowers and comfy old chairs any day.

See more of this English cottage gorgeousness here

A Good Idea

from Emily P Freeman

For the one who might not finish strong

First things first its okay to finish strong.

Its great. Yay you!

But for the rest of us – – –

Its also okay to just plain finish.

There wont be a medal for it; no reward, bonus, cheering crowd, or prize money.

But maybe the thing you need to remember is that you have good instincts.

That you can trust yourself.

And that some things are good enough for now.

We’ve survived a lot this year.

We’ve even thrived sometimes.

Look at us being human and resilient and alive!

If you cant finish strong this time, your not the only one.

So maybe lets just finish regular

Pace yourself.

Keep steady

Finish strong regular.

A Few Good Reads

From Melanie Dale

Giving Micro-Thanks

The music cranked up and my feet started stepping back and forth, my long arms pumping up and down. I felt strong in my Nikes, Lululemon’s, and Monty Python bloody bunny graphic tee. I love starting the week with Zumba. Part of my workout routine has become variations on the sentiment “thank you for my health, for my body, for this practice, and that I get to do this.”

I grinned, silently beginning the words to my inner prayer, a sort of ritual of gratitude I’ve adopted over the years. “Thank you for this aagghhhh.” My feet kept moving to the beat, but my brain scratched like a record. I felt tears burn hotter than my muscles and I gritted my teeth. Damn. My legs kept the beat, but I no longer felt connected to my body, my betrayer.

Here we are in this month of thankfulness and I’m having to relearn how to be thankful. I used to thank God for my work, but then that took a major hit in the pandemic balls, and I shifted my thankfulness to my health. After all, I may not have much in the way of work but I have my health, and with the world getting sick, that’s not something to take for granted.

Only I am no longer healthy.

I handle big things really well. Little things will make me lose my mind but the bigger things are, the calmer I get.

Everything is fine. Just let me reattach this severed limb, pull the axe out of my skull, and shove my intestines back in my abdomen. See? Right as rain. As the Black Knight says in Monty Python and the Holy Grail, “Tis but a scratch… just a flesh wound.”

I sat my kids down and told them, “I’m going to say a scary word but I’m not scared, and I’m going to be fine.” – – – keep reading

From the New York Times Tiny Love Stories: Modern Love in miniature, featuring reader-submitted stories of no more than 100 words.

Never Mind the Naysayers

“My mother says your husband will probably leave you now,” my friend said, two weeks after I told her I’d tested H.I.V. positive. “Your mother doesn’t know him, or me, or even what real love looks like, apparently,” I replied. My husband and I had skipped the traditional marriage vows, but that conversation showed me their value: “For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.” Thirty-one years later, we’re still married, he’s still H.I.V. negative and our 25-year-old twin daughters (also H.I.V. negative) are thriving. Sometimes, people’s comments say more about them than they do about you. — Rebecca Denison – – – keep reading

Old Roots Bearing Fruit

On a brisk November morning, I found myself climbing a fruit tree in my mother’s backyard in suburban Virginia. My 3-year-old insisted that I pick the last persimmon at 6:30 a.m. My father planted that tree two decades ago because the persimmons reminded him of the home he left behind in Korea. Now each year, come Thanksgiving, the tree bears vibrant orange fruit on the grayest of almost-winter mornings, and I am reminded of him. I think of how he would have held his granddaughter’s hands, had they been given the chance to meet. —Heidi Shin – – – keep reading

From Ann Voskamp

Hope for Hopeless Things: The First Sunday & Candle of Advent

You’ve been hoping against hope, because deep down, you still believe, even when everything else around you tells you there’s less hope than a snowball’s chance in hades.

I held a wooden box that held my father’s ashes this year. How can a man who was larger than life to you be reduced to powdery ash and weigh less than a few pounds in your hands?

How can children get cancer & marriages fall apart, & jobs & hearts get axed, & debt loads & dreams explode, & the trajectory of your story go south, & you end up on some unlikely detour you never asked for, that you never dreamed of, that you never wanted and now you only want out of?

How, on almost the longest, darkest night of the year, can Advent’s first Sunday begin with hope? – – – keep reading

That’s all for now friends. If you’ve enjoyed The Friday Recliner drop me a comment or copy the link and pass onto a friend.

Have a beautiful weekend, rest up, do something you love xx