The other day I had glorious quiet time by the pool by myself. I can't say that it was the first time this summer that I had time alone (read: sans ill-behaved children and their parents), but it was the first time I had alone time that I was really able to enjoy. (Because, believe it or not, I can find a way to be stressed even when I’m relaxed.) I wasn't clock watching because I had some place to go, or looking at the sky wondering if I would get rained on, and I wasn't concerned about overdoing it and getting burned. I had nothing on my mind other than wanting to finish the book in my bag. I wasn’t sure how long it would last, but I was determined to make the most of that time.
Alas, two hours later, with twenty pages left, a group of kids came in and my peace and quiet *poof* vanished, but I stayed to finish the book anyway.
When I was done, I packed my bag, folded my chair, and went inside satisfied. Not just because I really liked the book, or because I was happy for the quiet time I had to finish it, but also because I was reminded that sometimes good things come in small doses.