Hello sweetheart, whatever funk I'd gotten myself in yesterday I managed to work through, via this morning's post I suppose, in which I managed also to make the song Purple Rain, which I've always loved - truly my own. Back from walk around here, golden late afternoon light on high ground giving way, as I walked downhill towards the creek, to the gathering gloaming, which had crept up hill like a gloom by the time I'd come around the bend and up the hill again to the flat ridge where we live. It is beautiful out, soft and mellow, the mild air reminiscent of spring, sultry, expansive, loamily fragrant moist air enveloping me. Squirrels darted here & there. Mallard ducks settled - for the night? - on rocks in the middle of the rushing rapids of the creek. Leaves were golden, or green, and many trees are bare. I felt a great sense of well-being on my walk - and am glad I impelled myself out the door, especially since I'd missed my workout. The day just isn't quite long enough... and I have great luxury of time, for which I'm very grateful (and without which this blog would never exist). I am trying to get the house in excellent order for our guests this weekend, and should have been up & at 'em in the cleaning department this morning, but my Muse (my inner one, that is) would have none of it, and became suddenly obsessed with the Purple Plain/Rain/(Spain)/Pain stuff... It had to get done. But it took a while, just making the connections, musing, then finding the right quotes, and images, and video - not so easy or quick with dialup. But it got done, and I don't know - somehow I'd worked through something.
I'm behind on the housework so maybe after I post this I'll go downstairs & vacuum. Things are spiffed up here - and it took not a little nagging. Not a role I relish whatsoever. And it was resented. But at the same time I'm glad for the results, and am glad for the impetus of the impending guests, otherwise none of this stuff would have gotten done, the house (never mind the garden) would have continued sinking into decrepitude. But now we've got a freshly painted & recarpeted stairway to the aerie - so new & different a color scheme that I feel as though I'm in someone else's house! I insisted on a new toaster and coffeemaker - our old ones were not only grotty and unsightly but broken - just barely functioning (e.g., D having to boil water on the stove before pouring it into the electric coffeemaker which didn't even keep it hot; the plastic toaster knob had broken). It was intolerable to me for our friends to have to encounter such disarray; they are quite particular, and frankly, without being lavish, so am I. Actually one of my most fervent wishes for my adulthood (having grown up in a house where drawer fronts came off in one's hand when one hazarded a pull; lamps didn't light; painted walls had horrible gobs of spackle; there was no usable shower; I could go on & on & on) - the very last thing I ever wanted was to be consigned to a house like that in my adulthood. Which is what has ended up happening.
But anyway, a few cosmetic touches at the last minute have been achieved. D gave the back door a fresh coat of paint. I've bought new sheets & towels (ours have been laundered at least a hundred times).
It turns out the pellet stove is broken and needs a new part & it has taken some nagging & then some so that that part is replaced in time. Our friends I'm sure will wish to light that stove, not to mention that we will need it for heat as soon as the cold weather is here for good.
I know how awful I sound, and don't think that D doesn't let me know it, since I'm lady of the manor while he toils. Our first 20 years were nothing like this. Now it's like an Edward Albee play, only way more tedious & boring.
Oh grrr. And I am in an upbeat mood, I really am. But I do have these issues. D & I had been quite cozy in our Brooklyn apartment - as are, in theirs, the friends who are coming to visit (houseswap, that is - I'm going to stay in their apartment in Brooklyn while they're up here, and D is going to stay in a place in town, that is, up here). It was always exquisitely lovely, beautifully appointed, a joy to come home to after a long day. I thought D & I had been on the same page on that... that we both enjoyed that quality of life, only wished more space, and peace & quiet from the city, and a bit of garden.
The marriage didn't survive the move. It just didn't. And yet - here we are - still in it. Only it's this stupid war of attrition, the most pointless game of chess ever. Who's going to exhaust whom first. Or how will it break? I do not see us coming together emotionally again. I should leave - but how? I have no wherewithal. The only writing I know how to do is right here.
And still - darling, believe it or not, I'm in a fine mood. The house is getting cleaner, the sprucings have helped, here I am typing to you, I just took a power walk - and I have so much more energy & stamina than I used to have, and I look & feel better - and, oh by the way, I had a positively tantric time with you for a spell - it just went on & on & on at this incredibly transcendent almost-there point at which I could linger & savor & marvel even as I was in it...
And that's it darling, for now. So many kisses for you. I think about you so much. I hope you're doing okay. I should go downstairs now & vacuum. Dinner will be nice - fettuccine with a sauce of mushrooms seasoned with tarragon.
Only want to see you dancing in the purple rain...
All my love.