Well, I did not clean out a single closet.
I did a reasonable amount of housecleaning. I went on a very long, very hot hike with a friend. I spent an inordinate amount of time watching Foyle’s War.
All in all — quite pleasant.
It is unbearably hot here. It was 100 yesterday, and 96 the day before. This is always the hot season, but that’s fairly extreme. The cats have been lying around looking pained. It’s supposed to cool off now, and I don’t want to see any pictures of lovely trees changing color. I just can’t imagine that it’s actually fall in other places.
I’m knitting a sock.
Looks like the deer have been around again.
And the lemon shrub has finally started to produce lemons. This is good.
Look at the anemones. They came up all by themselves. I like them a lot.
Can you see the spider? They are everywhere. Be careful when you walk on paths. (I can appreciate spiders, but I don’t really like them. I can appreciate them when they’re not going to touch me.)
I think the deer have been munching on the chard. Either that or I did a very bad job of picking some the other night in the dark.
This aster! It’s at the back and I can see if from the house.
The sock, from far away.
The native creature, in a state of alertness. He never rests.
Up early to put K on the train to the plane to New Orleans. He’s off to a music festival and I’m staying home. This is a novel thing.
I had thought about going on a kayaking trip this weekend. It was especially appealing because of the full moon. But in the end I opted to stay home. Partly to save money, but also from a residual feeling that one of us should be around in case the kids need us, which is silly, I know. But also, I confess, from a desire to experience having the house all to myself for the first time ever. What will it be like?
Will I really clean out every single closet? Will I spend the whole weekend on the couch reading books? I don’t know! It already feels pretty novel, though.
There was an estate sale down the street and I came home with this mirror — which is actually a little bit to big for the space. Hmmm. I think it’s pretty, though.
It was a funny old house that I thought had long ago been broken up for student apartments, but it hadn’t. An old woman owned that house and the one next to it, which is apparently full of furniture but unlived in. She was keeping it in case her son moved back, but he never did. There’s a tiny lot next door full of fruit trees, too.
She had lovely things, and it was a beautiful house — wider than ours and with a nice big staircase. I wonder what will happen to it. The master bedroom was huge with a whole wall of casement windows opening onto the street, but into a row of plane trees. You never would have known from the outside. And the bedroom was painted a leafy green, which seemed like an odd choice for an old lady.
Actually, it was all a little sad. Remind me not to buy the house next door and fill it with furniture for the girls.
I am home with some sort of ague, although I’m feeling a little better. Jimmy is sleeping on my knitting. Lucy prowls the dining room.
I really should go pick up some cleaning to send to M, and then mail off several packages and get some coriander. I really should . . . I’m hungry, which is surely a good sign.
I’m feeling slightly cranky, and here are the reasons why.
- It’s 80 degrees in my office and once again we are being poisoned, this time with roofing tar. Next week is supposed to be noisy.
- I’m hungry, but I’m trying not to eat anything. [This is probably what’s really wrong.]
- I’m reading Game Change which I like okay. Actually, though, I’m really tired of it and want to move onto something else, but a coworker recommended it. Ugh. Also, it once again feels like the country is going to hell in a handbasket. How can a former anti-masturbation campaigner now be running for senate? Are we living in crazy world? I don’t understand it.
- I miss those annoying children. Also, they will not sit down and have lengthy conversations with me regarding exactly how and what they are doing. Is it really safe not to worry about them? Other people’s children apparently call them every time they change their underwear. I don’t know why mine have to be so damn self-sufficient.
Okay. I think that’s it now.
I slipped in Who will run the frog hospital while I was supposed to be reading Game Change. It was infinitely more interesting, but also somewhat sad.
Bah. Perhaps it’s time for lunch . . .