My commute

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It’s been a productive day, but now I’m eager to get out of here and make my way home.

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It’s nice to be able to walk around naked in the mornings (just to the bathroom and back), but I do miss the houseguests in the evenings.

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K is often not home until the last possible moment. It was nice to have someone to cook with, or to have an opinion about what we should have for dinner, or even, often, to cook the whole thing. I do not mind doing dishes at all.

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One thing I do like about where I live is the little glimpses of the bay or the mountains you get all of a sudden, between houses or down streets. Looking out the front windows this morning I thought, if only it snowed here, I think I could be happy.

I love the way snow falls over a landscape, transforming everything, covering dead gardens and ugliness with white.

Okay — half an hour and I’m out of here.

Also, this Saturday N will play her last game of collegiate hockey. Here is a link to her team, albeit from the year before she was there:

Ranunculus

I love these ranunculus, or, possibly ranunculi.

I bought them at the grocery store. They had a big bucket full of many different, beautiful colors. At first I wanted to buy an orange bunch and a yellow bunch, but they were expensive so I put those back and pulled out this single bunch. You can’t really see, but they’re a sort of velvety burgundy color, and the green on the stems matches the candle exactly. They’re the perfect combination of luxury and spareness.

Hellebores amongst the Onions

What did I do this weekend?

Pull the onions that had taken over my backyard. Go to see A Separation, which was actually wonderful, although sad. Rearrange the dining room furniture (we got rid of the futon we had had since 1989). Cook a rather delicious mushroom risotto.

And now it is Monday. The trouble with a comfortable, home-arranging weekend is that it’s always hard to shift gears and go to work. I think a list would help — I think a list would be a good idea, actually.

The house guests are gone. They took all their belongings on Sunday and disappeared to build beds and vacuum couches and purchase new buckets. They reappeared to eat risotto and watch the Oscars and now they are really gone. I drove them home last night and saw their apartment — it’s going to be really nice, actually. It looks even better with a little bit of furniture in it.

And now it feels very quiet here. Lucy is going to miss having someone around to pet her in the middle of the day. I’m going to miss having someone else to think about dinner with. K and Male Houseguest can still play tennis, though. They’re not far away at all.

Okay. I’ve got to shower and get to work. Make my list.

I have to say, though, that the dining room looks great without the futon, which I dearly loved and which was a lovely blue, and which did provide an excellent place to take a nap. But the space was too small, and the little yellow armchairs — which could certainly stand recovering — fit in that spot much better, and people are already using them as a place to read in the afternoon. The light is nice there, there are good views out several windows, and you can now open the drawers in the little cabinet built-in to the wall. It feels more like a little nook, now, and less like a handy spot to leave a coat.

So that’s good.

Hot

I know no one wants to hear this, but it is unseasonable warm here. Time-to-break-out-the-shorts warm. I meant to take a pictures of a magnolia blooming or something, but my heart just wasn’t in it, and it’s supposed to be getting a bit cooler again this weekend. So we’ll just pretend it’s still winter.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about high school boyfriends. I blame this on the guy we went skiing with, who spent the whole trip up to the mountains and the whole trip back down again talking about how he thought about nothing but sex in high school and managed to have none at all until he left. He could not find a girl to have sex with, or rather, he could not figure how to go about making this happen.

This was so radically opposed to my experience in high school. I was pretty eager to see what it was all about, but no boy that I was interested in would ever do anything until I met a guy in my physics class who I was pretty sure would. I went out with him for a year and a half. But there were problems with him, too. Among other things, he refused to ride in my car because he claimed it made him sick. So he drove. (I secretly suspected that he didn’t like my car, which was my father’s Volkswagen hatchback. Not fancy.) This sucked, because I actually like to drive. And he himself did have a fancy car — a fancy classic historic sportscar that he and his father had bought together. So, he drove us around in that, and I suppose that was fun for him because he could drive it, but we could never leave it anywhere. So we’d drive up to the reservoir, hang around the parking lot, and then drive home again. We couldn’t go for a hike because someone might come and, I don’t know, scratch the car. So that was kind of a bust.

My thoughts are 1) I paid a pretty high price just to get to have sex and 2) it’s funny about boys. I suppose it was harder for them, since they were supposed to do the asking. But it seems to me that the interesting boys, the boys I actually liked to talk to, were never the boys who would ask you out. Our passenger agreed — he thought that probably the girls he was wanting to go out with were secretly wondering why he didn’t just ask them instead of mooning around thinking about it.

I’ve finished Riddley Walker and moved on to Smiley’s People. Since it’s written in English instead of some strange dialect I am a quarter of the way through it without even realizing. It’s very good.