Slow, Easy Sunday

We have a deal ~ Dylan, Virginia Woolf and Limes. On Sundays, the double alarm clocks do not announce the start of the day. We ease into it. Sometimes it's still in the predawn, if that's when I come to life. But when the weather is cold and our home is warm, I tend to lie in a little later. This morning we woke to Justin radio-ing in on the BlackBerry. At holiday times, we work Sundays, although I don't go in. The home dudes just radio their progress, their observations, their jokes as the day goes on. "Hey, Limes, whatcha doin' now?" "Laundry and vacuuming, homes!" "Be sure to use your carpet rake because of Dylan's fur." "Right there with you, homes." "Goin' for a walk later, Limes?" "Every day of life, homes." "Good shiott, Limes."

On Sundays, I make a fuller pot of coffee because I have the time to sit awhile and savor it longer. As I grind the beans, the cats dance figure eights around my ankles because in this establishment, fresh water is put down every morning in a new, clean bowl. It is expected. Once the coffee is brewed to perfection, I select a much loved mug from a vast collection and sit on the throne that is my desk chair. Then I read. Then I write. Today I am enjoying the music selections from Tag's post yesterday. I hadn't thought of The Highwaymen in years. I saw them perform once. I loved it. Yesterday and today I love watching them step up to their mikes, each to sing his part - the smiles, the obvious camaraderie on the stage. Waylon and Johnny gone now . . . Mr. and Mrs. Elvis Costello singing Crazy with Willie Nelson . . . Allison Krauss singing Paul Simon . . .

Saturday was a heavy blog traffic day, with some less frequent followers ringing in ~ I liked that. During e-mails throughout the afternoon and evening, the Badger commented how fun it all is and wouldn't it be grand to attend the great internet round table at some funky spot as Kass suggested. I reminded him of the sub-headline on my blog and said I'd rather host this soiree at my home, cooking red sauce in the kitchen, good music, red wine. What discussions would take place! I wonder if the walls could contain all the energy, creativity and good will? Later he e-mailed, "You're blossoming, Limes." I replied that I didn't know about that, but I certainly had rejoined the living.

I'll need to go to Fresh & Easy later. I make a macaroni and cheese to die for and it has been requested. This is an adult version of the ultimate comfort food. No child would go for this pasta creation, and it doesn't come out of a blue box. Nor is it orange when ready to be served. When I layer some Gruyere in it, the cheese strings up so badly that diners look like Lady and the Tramp eating their spaghetti. I'm hoping not to relive running into Bob at Fresh & Easy, but I won't let the possibility keep me from a store where I like to shop. Actually, I've been given so many suggestions for things I should have said to Bob, that maybe one more encounter . . . . perhaps, just once, I could make an exception and cause a really ugly public scene . . . nah. Kass, you want to join us for dinner? Feed an addiction?

So, Kass, is this the Bloom Where You're Planted image you have at your Midway cottage? Because I've had an affinity for her art for decades, I've observed that sometimes they scramble up the images with the quotes, so one's never quite sure.

I was glad you mentioned the Philip Seymour Hoffman movie yesterday. I'd forgotten it was coming out and I never want to miss anything he's acting in. I need to make a date and go see it.

Not sure if you picked this up, because it was sandwiched in with some long string of comments, but I had read you were interested in the neon boneyard and I had posted about that some five weeks ago. Tag and Kirk had been interested in it, so this post was my little offering.

And so, favored readers and 'tend friends, if I do not move myself, I will have spent another lost day and I made a promise to myself and important others that I'm not going to let that happen any more. There are places to go and people to see, food to be prepared and shared, group gatherings to be looked into, and a whole world of others to connect with. Tonight I want to begin writing Chapter 2 on the journey to Sugarhouse. Because I'm compelled to tell.

In my ears right now: Still The Highway Men singing Highway Man. Thanks, Tag. " . . . . I'll find a place to rest my spirit if I can . . . "

Something that charmed me: Friend Willy and his adventures in PhotoShop. We have surely cut a rug together before, but the prize is fantasy. Nor are those Willy's or my bodies. But the faces are real and he is funny!



One photo credit: J. D. Morehouse