This rain.

Clouds and storms persist to the point that it's simpler to mention the day -- hours -- of sunshine instead of noting the precipitation. Ever since I put my watch away at the vernal equinox, I have been living by a schedule set by sunlight and dog walks, usually in the cemetery down the block but lately just a nip into the backyard between bouts of wet that oscillate from drizzle to floodgates and back again. The world has been wet for weeks. 

Tiu glares at the rain when we go out, and I wear long sleeves and pants to fend my way through the thicket of mosquitoes, a second plague that seems more insulting than injurious.

I have a blog post to edit.
I should be reading Marriage: A History or rereading The Republic or The Moviegoer.

Instead of any of that--instead of knitting or baking, even (there's a sea-salt Carmel shortbread concoction that is calling me)--I want nothing more on this grey Sun(less)day than to eat pasta tossed with plenty of olive oil, garlic, capers, salt, fresh basil, and a few golden tomatoes and then to curl up on the sofa with my new favorite blanket and some Tana French.
The editing can wait a bit longer.

Thought of the day

“Speed is a defense against depth”

"There is more to life than increasing its speed." -- Ghandi

Sunday Morning Neighborhood Stroll

The Bookshop

Continuing with the foolishness of my world, this week's Sunday movie at the Grandin was The Bookshop, a perfectly charming film adaptation of the book by the same name.

The pacing is spot-on, and Mortimer is brilliant as a widow who decides to open a bookshop in a small eastern town, incurring strong emotions in residents, who respond in ways that surprise everyone, including themselves.

Set in the late 50s, it feels as relevant as ever. Nighy and Clarkson are as good as ever.

A perfect rainy Sunday film when you're feeling off-kilter and courageous. The power of books, of books as friends, and the power of friendship. Never underestimate the power of believing in yourself and others.

Lazy Sunday Afternoon

We had a great time at church, but I was pretty wiped out before it was halfway over. When we got home, I read the paper a bit and then napped on the couch. Life is good.

Sunday

The day on Saturday was slow, and then Sunday's reset rituals held us gently, as it does every week:

• Put bedding in to wash and make breakfast
• Get dressed and go to Friends Meeting
• Bedding into the dryer; weekly laundry into the washer
• Visit with friends -- it's more restorative than I can express.
• Weekly trip to the co-op for groceries (and to visit everyone else who plans this same moment)
• Lunch and cards at home -- laundry into the dryer
• Reset Vivian's room and her toys and clothes
• Change, if needed, and collect stuff to go back to Dad's
• Drive and drop off
• gym and steam room and sauna and shower
• dinner at home
• step work meeting
• cards and conversation and bedtime

Years ago I would have balked at the idea that upon awakening my day was spoken for.
Now, I feel the loving comfort, the support of it.

By the way, Vivian loves her new swimsuit so much that she wore it all day Saturday before we went to the pool -- even while rolling the oats for the oatmeal cookies.

Sunday

Sunday morning Co-op

Almost tall enough

What's with the September green grass?

Planning The Execution

Whackadoodles

Sunday afternoon at the gym