I had a really good weekend.

Sabs and I actually had an opportunity to really relax on Monday. It was a real treat to just sit around and read and talk, and stop for food. We slept in, and then wandered into the kitchen for food, tried to psyche ourselves up to do some housework, failed miserably and wound up flopped in a pile on the couch reading books. We finally got ourselves moving in the late afternoon to go do some serious grocery shopping. We picked up a video and then went for a walk.

We went up to the park where Sabs proposed to me, and sat on my jacket under a tree with our backs against its trunk. We read there until the sun started to go down and walked back, giggling like little kids.

It's always so nice to have days like this. Days when you don't worry about anything and just take the time to live. The weather was miserable early in the day, which made it perfect to lounge around indoors. When the sun came out later, it was perfect for a nice walk and some time spent out on the grass.

Even better was the time we spent talking to each other. Sometimes, daily life gets so hectic that we forget to tell each other what we're thinking. This wa a perfect opportunity to re-connect and it made me feel a lot better. Things were starting to feel rushed and TOO hectic. Made me grouchy and short-tempered.

Now I'm in a fairly positive frame of mind.

We rented a video last night: Dear God, about a con man who has to find a job or go to jail, and the group of postal workers he winds up working with in the Dead Letter Office. He answers a letter addressed to God, by accident falling into acts of kindness, and eventually begins to act of his own volition. It was a sweet lesson about the nature of giving wrapped up in a lightly funny cinematic package. The message about a little bit of kindness going a long way, really struck me, because it reminded me of some of the things I've been struggling with, in small ways ever since I moved to the Washington D.C. metro-area.

I am frequently disturbed, when I see homeless people sleeping on the benches int he traffice circle just below my office. There are two who have chosen the strip of sidewalk leading down to the Metro as their beat, an older woman, who wears a different hat depending on the season, who is quite tall and usually sits on a crate in the sidewalk so that people are forced to go around her, or to stop, and a man who seems to be in his late thirties or early forties who has a sign that reads "Homeless, willing to work, every little bit counts. God Bless" the look on his face varies from being very closed and somewhat cold, to hauntingly sad and hopeless. Both generally try to stammer out a greeting of some kind as we, the hordes of commuters and tourists sweep by, hurrying back to our safe homes in Virginia and Maryland and the nicer parts of the District.

When I have spare change, I drop it into her tin, and his plastic cup. I don't always have spare change, because Sabs and I are living paycheck-to-paycheck until we can struggle out from under the load of debt we have. From time to time, there is a man who sits in a nest of blankets and wears a Cat-in-the-Hat, hat, tall, and striped in red and white. He has many tall hats, eye-catching hats that cause people to stop and ask him about his hats. He carries his life about, on what I assume, is a shopping cart, loaded up with plastic bags, backpacks and totes bursting with the items he collects and uses.

I wonder about their stories, where they came from how they got where they are. But I always wind up being too scared to stop and ask. And I get stuck being selfish, thinking how Sabs and I are really, only just holding onto the lifestyle we have, by the skin of our teeth. And then I have trouble looking the three of them in the eye as I walk by without putting anything in their cups. I think of ways in which cities and people could do something to help them. And then I think, that maybe I should just ask them what they really want.