Thursday, November 24, 2011

The sun has set behind the mountains. The photo doesn't do it justice. It doesn't see what I see when I pull down the aerie window and point the camera. The scale is all off. I don't wish to use the zoom on the camera. Should I have used the flash? Is there a 'night' setting? It's too complicated for me, I'm not kidding. I don't even know how to pump gas. I want to travel to Amherst on my own steam, but D's thinking he's going to have to give me a how-to lesson, just in case, though our car should be able to do a hundred miles there and back.

So I can see that she represented a certain form of stability. Of course she knows how to pump gas.

I'm not so hopeless - am I? There was a time I used to pump my own gas, when I would borrow my live-in boyfriend's Audi, in the Bay Area, the Oakland-Berkeley hills (way before the fires). So I am - technically - capable of it.

It's been an odd Thanksgiving Day. I'm still in it. (Maybe you're not, though I don't quite see you as passed out on a couch after a TV football game, I'm sure not.)

So much cooking and food-prep today. The turkey's just been pulled out of the oven (at 5:30), in go, temperature raised, a pan of root vegetables, and the stuffing...

Oh darling, I just discovered your page hits --- back at you, the hugest hug and kisses...

I took a walk around here, with weights, this morning. Actually, it was an extraordinarily beautiful day, sunny - very sunny - and so, was it chilly, or mild? I couldn't decide, it depended on where I was in the sun... when I first set off I felt the need for bundled red-wool scarf... but by the end I'd unbuttoned my jacket, pocketed my gloves, and donned my sunglasses... only to tip them back up on my head again to wish 'happy Thanksgiving' to a charming man walking his dog, whose house I frequently pass - it was nice to encounter a neighbor, in perambulatory neighborly fashion.

So no workout or such adjuncts today, but it was pleasant to assemble the apple pie, consult a rubber-banded falling-apart volume of The Joy of Cooking, as to creamed onions...

And then it was all of 2:30. Or maybe two o'clock. Or three o'clock. Whatever. And I wasn't in the mood for a workout. (D had announced to me this morning, no all, and Anderson won't be on til five. Gasp!)

It was a fine, sunny, balmy, warm day. So I stripped to my underwear. And cleaned the upstairs bath. Which sounds crazy, but I don't have a maid, and I only like doing chores of that kind when the sun is shining bright and it becomes a physical workout for me, as I scrub and scrub. No Cinderella at all, I grooved on it - the light filled room, me in just underwear -- as though it were July....

And then I was on a roll, since no workout (I felt too constrained, somehow, by the holiday, it didn't feel 'everyday', and I need stimulating daytime on for my workout, not a dusty outdated rerun of Cheaper by the Dozen, which I used to enjoy as a young girl -- but now find utterly useless).

Make a long story short, the entire house is vacuumed, upstairs & down -- such was my Thanksgiving. And believe me, I give thanks that I now have a clean, freshly maintained house, because it hardly seemed a bother at all.

Before I started on vacuuming the aerie, I opened the back door and called out to D, who was tinkering with the car. It seems that brake lights are out...

It was around four. Would you mind if I have a glass of wine?

No, of course not - it's a holiday. Do you need me to open it for you?

I don't know - do I? Is it a cork?

Because you see, for the occasion, D had splurged on a step-up-better rosé, this one from Italy.

Anyway, he did pop the cork (or whatever it took), and with a glass of icefilled rosé in my hand, I vacuumed - enjoying the lightfilled rooms - the entire house.

Dearest dreamboat, all my love, many kisses.

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