Hank- what's that show I was supposed to watch years ago? The one you kept telling me about with what's-his-name in it? From Deadwood? You know what I'm talking about. "Unforgiven?" "Unbidden"? "Un-something?" Lis told me to watch it too.
Ah. The aging brain.
So. Good morning. Had another walk. Trying to get out a little earlier and it's helping. Had some delicious yogurt with sliced almonds for breakfast. Made my poor husband eat vegetables with curry spices last night. I think he may actually have liked them. He said he did but he was starving so who knows? The chicken was okay. It would have been a lot better with skin on it.
Guess what I think I'm going to do today? Something I've been threatening to do all summer, which is to take my book and my chair down to the river and spend a little time there, all alone, just me and my book and the river and I'll read and then dip and then read and then dip and then...
You get the picture.
So the book I'm reading.
Oh my goodness. I want to eat it up in one sitting and I about halfway have.
As you can see there, same author who wrote the Olive Kitteridge stories.
I had to force myself to put it down last night, close it up, turn off the light, close my eyes.
Deceptively easy to read. A glass-shined ballroom floor upon which your eyes glide so quickly but you know that it might very well end up, this dance, in a fall. So many dances with mothers end that way, I have found. And this is definitely a mother-daughter dance.
Well. We shall see.
And here I go to finish a few chores around here (isn't "chore" a delightfully old-fashioned word?) and then off to the river where I hope to find a bit of shade in which to sit in-between holy immersions in the Wacissa. Some of us find that one Baptism is not nearly enough and must repeat the ritual frequently for full effect.
Speaking for myself, at least.