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Sproinging
Apr. 11th, 2003 08:52 pmWell, I'm not as bouncy as I could wish, in truth. I'm getting up too late and starting too slowly. I don't think this virus has really let go yet.
Eric has called faithfully yesterday and today, which makes absence much easier to bear. His cat is fine and has probably stolen all my bounce, now that I consider of it.
A few hundred more words on the book. Plod, plod, plod, plod, plod.
Crocuses are up. The species tulips are up. Buds on the winter aconite; dame's rocket rosettes all over the place; green and more green in the grass; more peony shoots; the first pointed leaves of scilla, the early wild ones that have spread from the neighbors' yard, already carrying their small dark-blue buds. It's time to prune the rosebush, the wild Henry Kelsey. I must borrow Lydy's fireplace gloves.
Thursday evening I went over to Eric's to see to the cat, stopping at the supermarket to get some tea for Raphael. Last year at this time I was also heading to his place, but he was there, and we spent a pleasant afternoon before walking downtown together to go to Mike's birthday dinner. This year I took care of his cat, whom he didn't have last year at this time, and walked down by myself, deeply nostalgic for NRE and for what seem like much simpler and more innocent times.
Juan and Elise were sitting at the tables outside the restaurant, having been told the wrong time for the rendezvous. Soon after we gathered inside: David, Lydy, Beth, Juan, Elise, me, and the guest of honor, who looked really very good and perky. It was a more sedate celebration than last year's, but you could actually hear what anybody said at most times. (Last year, there was an accordian band -- quite a good one, but it was rather detrimental to conversation.) I had a lovely comfortable coze with Elise, and laughed at Mike's jokes, and listened to David and Juan geeking merrily. Most people had beer or cider, but I stuck to iced tea. My medication seizes on alcohol and makes me dizzy, or something. Makes it not fun, anyway.
I realized I had not seen Juan or Mike since Solstice, and had seen Elise, I think, only once since then. I must try to be more sociable. Then again, I really really must write this book.
Minicon will probably be a great deal of fun and make me not want to see anyone for a month, anyway.
When I began this entry, a robin was singing in the twilight. For my cat-sitting route today, I stopped at the supermarket on my way home to get soy milk, which I somehow managed to leave out of the Simon's order. I walked home from Lake Street, along Blaisdell. Grackles emitted very stfnal noises from evergreens. They are not as electronic as red-winged blackbirds, but more so than I'd realized. People were out raking the mulch off their flower beds, and I think even I might do that thing tomorrow. My mom is coming over to admire the snowdrops.
Pamela
Eric has called faithfully yesterday and today, which makes absence much easier to bear. His cat is fine and has probably stolen all my bounce, now that I consider of it.
A few hundred more words on the book. Plod, plod, plod, plod, plod.
Crocuses are up. The species tulips are up. Buds on the winter aconite; dame's rocket rosettes all over the place; green and more green in the grass; more peony shoots; the first pointed leaves of scilla, the early wild ones that have spread from the neighbors' yard, already carrying their small dark-blue buds. It's time to prune the rosebush, the wild Henry Kelsey. I must borrow Lydy's fireplace gloves.
Thursday evening I went over to Eric's to see to the cat, stopping at the supermarket to get some tea for Raphael. Last year at this time I was also heading to his place, but he was there, and we spent a pleasant afternoon before walking downtown together to go to Mike's birthday dinner. This year I took care of his cat, whom he didn't have last year at this time, and walked down by myself, deeply nostalgic for NRE and for what seem like much simpler and more innocent times.
Juan and Elise were sitting at the tables outside the restaurant, having been told the wrong time for the rendezvous. Soon after we gathered inside: David, Lydy, Beth, Juan, Elise, me, and the guest of honor, who looked really very good and perky. It was a more sedate celebration than last year's, but you could actually hear what anybody said at most times. (Last year, there was an accordian band -- quite a good one, but it was rather detrimental to conversation.) I had a lovely comfortable coze with Elise, and laughed at Mike's jokes, and listened to David and Juan geeking merrily. Most people had beer or cider, but I stuck to iced tea. My medication seizes on alcohol and makes me dizzy, or something. Makes it not fun, anyway.
I realized I had not seen Juan or Mike since Solstice, and had seen Elise, I think, only once since then. I must try to be more sociable. Then again, I really really must write this book.
Minicon will probably be a great deal of fun and make me not want to see anyone for a month, anyway.
When I began this entry, a robin was singing in the twilight. For my cat-sitting route today, I stopped at the supermarket on my way home to get soy milk, which I somehow managed to leave out of the Simon's order. I walked home from Lake Street, along Blaisdell. Grackles emitted very stfnal noises from evergreens. They are not as electronic as red-winged blackbirds, but more so than I'd realized. People were out raking the mulch off their flower beds, and I think even I might do that thing tomorrow. My mom is coming over to admire the snowdrops.
Pamela
