I've just done some futzing in the kitchen, unloading the dishwasher, taking chicken off the bone, chopping and spinning romaine. Dinner will be caesar salad with leftover roast chicken and croutons that I make from discounted day-old baguettes from fashionable bakeries (chop up bread, put on baking pan, toss with EVOO and minced garlic, bake til toasted, toss once maybe in the process; let cool; croutons keep well in closed container in fridge.)
Arvada. On the other side of Denver, midway between your zip and Boulder. Which may simply mean that you've migrated upstairs to a study or - well who knows - it doesn't bear guessing really. Your page hits melt like rain.
It was nice to go out to the shed for the bird seed. For one thing, the shed has been completely refurbished by D, a couple of years ago. When we first moved in it had no doors whatever, leaned precipitously, was propped up on one side with two by fours - a complete eyesore mess. D designed and built doors, shored up the structure, did all that was required to fix it up. Now it serves as a very pleasant garden shed. The house still has many an aesthetic issue, but the shed is in my view perfect. I felt like quite the lady of the manner marching to it to fetch bird seed. I'm neatly dressed, my hair which I washed this morning (with a special scrub of neck and ears) was down, and it was just a nice moment of things coming together in a perfect moment - me feeling good, a glass of wine waiting for me inside, a delightful girl calling out to me by name, happy cats, satisfying clasp of the latch as I closed the shed door behind me.
A few years ago, when we first moved up here, we took a spin on a secluded road. It was late day, the sun was golden on the green hills and we passed by a farm...
Excerpt from a post from my old Hidden Clapboard blog, 31 May 2005.
...It's late afternoon and we're driving along a back country road in Dutchess County, just over the border from the NW corner of CT. The scenery is especially magnificent, if that's possible in this region of spectacular scenery. Mile after mile of rolling farmland, far-reaching mountain vistas, lakes and streams. We pass a farm, where I glimpse a woman stepping towards her barn. She is tall, her carriage erect and her walk graceful. She wears her golden hair swept back in a loose bun at her nape, just so. She's dressed in casual country attire; slim trousers are tucked in tall boots. Over the barn door hangs a charming rustic wood sign lettered with the name of the farm. Golden light illuminates the pastoral scene. I imagine that she is going to greet her farm animals, happy creatures: she's bringing them a treat. I picture smiling baby goats and lambs. For a moment, it's like driving by a photo spread in a glossy magazine, House & Garden. Sheer, expensive perfection. A picture of rustic simplicity, backed by long-time millions in solid investments...***
In my blog I went on to discuss an utterly contrasting image, but that's not where my head's at tonight.
Tonight I felt a moment of serene well-being, stepping towards my own shed in beautiful light.
Dearest, wherever you are - southeast, northwest, down the stairs or up - so much love, and very many kisses.
I think I'm done and I know you're smart... and mainly I dream of you a lot... the power of your heart...