Friday evening. On the sofa with three cats. The fourth is snoring in her perch directly behind the sofa. On this peaceful evening, I contemplate my weekend plans.

Tomorrow, the weather is supposed to be beautiful. The rain that has soaked us today will move out, leaving my little corner of the world sparkling and fresh. My plan is to go to the Florence Griswold Museum to see their current exhibit, “Impressionism 150: From Paris to Connecticut and Beyond,” as well as other exhibits and works on display, have lunch in their café, and stroll around the gardens and the grounds.

It’s been many years since I’ve been to the museum. Strange, really, because there was a time when I went down to Old Lyme at least once or twice a year, whether for brunch at the now-closed Bee and Thistle Inn or to visit the Florence Griswold Museum. I once went down on a Saturday, having seen Girl with a Pearl Earring the night before; the movie had just come out, so that would have been 2003, more than twenty years ago. Was that the last time I was there? I’m not even certain.

How does this happen, that we forget things we once cared about? Sheer busyness, I suspect. When I first visited the Florence Griswold house, the museum on the grounds hadn’t even been built. So many marvelous paintings were hung in what had once been the boarding house Miss Florence operated for artists who would become the Lyme Art Colony, the most famous Impressionist art colony in America. The artists painted their works not only on canvas, but on doors and walls in Miss Florence’s house as thank-yous to her. In the kitchen, they painted a long frieze over the fireplace which depicts not only a fox chase, but the artists themselves; according to one docent, when one of the artists failed to pay his bill, the others painted him out of the frieze.

In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron talks about “artist dates” as a way to fill the creative well. She describes an artist date as “a once-weekly, festive, solo expedition to explore something that interests you.” While it need not be specifically about art, its purpose is to “fire up the imagination.” I suspect that Ms. Cameron would approve heartily of my choosing to take a day to soak up the beauty of the artwork, the architecture, the gardens, the walks around the property, and whatever else I might discover.

Nothing about this adventure has the slightest bit to do with my novel-in-progress or anything else in my life. Somehow, that’s perfectly fine. It makes this a true day off, a time simply to absorb the fruits of others’ creativity, whether they painted a canvas, designed a garden, or composed a meal. For one day, I can slip the rope that keeps me tethered to my to-do list and revel in their creations.

And when I come home, sated and refreshed, maybe I’ll make a note in my calendar to remind me to go back—or to try something else next week.