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Rain and things
Have now been back almost a week. A rainy week: only one day I got to garden. Two I went and sewed on Jan's machine, with her advice and help between comings and goings. (I acquired sewing things for a class I'd signed up to, then failed to show up to the class after week one. This arrangement is nicer.) One day me and Sam stayed in bed all day and went to Leaflemming and Ablackart's for dinner. One day was my birthday, and there was brunch and buying of clothes and pencils, and I had a small meltdown and had to sit on a hill with the Tao Te Ching for a while. And today I went to my doctor's for a repeat prescription, and shopped and soon shall clean the house a bit, and shall go to Darien and Tony's for dinner. Having finished Saramago's Cain I'm reading Woolf's Books and Portraits. I've never read her fiction, oddly; except I started Orlando once and was distracted. I'm finding her essays extremely readable. She reads books and lays their authors out in pieces on the table, from deep motivating principles on up to little habits and biographical details -- it's entertaining and rather terrifying, because my life is very removed from her context in which that kind of analysis makes sense, but her voice is so compelling I just want to set it loose in my head without qualifications. I will try her fiction again soon.
Quite an idle time. Hopefully it will fine up sooner than the forecast says it will.
Quite an idle time. Hopefully it will fine up sooner than the forecast says it will.
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Happy today, whenever today is.
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