I’m as shocked as you are.
I always have this debate with myself — how sick is sick enough to stay home? I think I make the cut this time. I have a sore throat, a barking couch, chills and weird achey pains. Still, I’m upright. I could loll about on the couch watching television, but realistically am more likely to spend the morning rounding up winter clothes for a snowshoeing trip this weekend. I don’t want to make anyone cry, but our winter clothes live up in the attic waiting for us to bring them down on those few days when we go visit winter.
It’s okay. It makes me cry, too.
But, yes, if I’m well enough to contemplate a trip to the attic, am I really sick enough to stay home? Although, I will note that I have not made it up to the attic yet, and also, won’t staying home increase my chances of feeling better on Saturday? I don’t think I’d really want to go snowshoeing if I felt like I do today . . .
Just coughed. I am sick.
I think I’m anonymous enough to mention this here — someone I happen to know is planning to take a sabbatical this summer to go off and do research for a novel she’s writing. I think this is very exciting. I think we should all be writing novels, but I think this person might actually do it.
All right. I think I need to go lie down now.
Also — it rained all night. Wonderful.
So, M got the baby in her king cake, and I got the baby in ours! Apparently this means I bring the cake next year? Not sure.
We went to our birding friends’ for Shrove Tuesday for pancakes and king cake. (We are inclusive celebrators.)
I’m feeling a bit wrung out, though. I’m going to go home soon and lie on the couch in silence.
Just a little tired, is all.
M is on spring break. She’s hanging around at school to get stuff done for her final project, but she sent me these pictures.
I’m going snowshoeing this weekend, though. It will be warm and melty, but still, I hope, there will be snow.
Happy Shrove Tuesday.
This picture also two years old, but the same thing is happening in the yard this year. That’s good.
I sort of hate this time of year. Winter, such as we have here, is ending, and I feel restless and regretful. I have not been up to visit the snow. The kids will soon be cast adrift from their current pursuits and in flux again. Things seem unsettled.
Of course, it is hard to dislike a plum tree.
Spring is busting out all over.
Okay, so I have been going to the gym religiously twice a week for, oh, two weeks now, and what I feel is exhausted.
Don’t mind me. I’m just going to curl up under my desk here.
Actually, I’ve been clearing off my desk. It’s actually kind of fun. Quite surprising what’s under all these piles.
And now, praise the lord, it is time for lunch. It’s another rainy day — I wonder what kind of soup they have upstairs.
Good thing, too.
I’m reading Someone, by Alice McDermott. It’s lovely.
It reminds me a little bit of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, only because it takes place in Brooklyn, and there is a mother and two children, and the older is a beautiful boy and the younger, who is the narrator, is the less beautiful girl, but otherwise it’s not similar at all.
I was talking to someone about the Goldfinch this weekend, and the thing about the Goldfinch is how ill at ease you feel all the way through.
Bad things do happen in Someone, but in a completely different way you feel that everything is going to be all right. Although it kind of isn’t — in a way, both books end up in the same place; it’s just the process of getting there that feels different.
I read another book by Alice McDermott a long time ago. It was probably Charming Billy. I remember a similar quietness, and also the feeling of being inside the narrator’s head, figuring things out along with her. It’s wonderful.
I am tired. I think I stayed up late reading, and then I got up early.
All right, then. I believe it’s time for some coffee.
Time for lunch.
Thinking about going to the mountains to learn how to snowshoe. Is there more to it than just walking?
If I go, I’ll let you know.