One of the fellows that I have coffee with in the morning thought I might like to have his copy of a biography of Oscar Wilde. So now it is mine to pass along when finished. Thoughtful of him.
Last evening was my time with a Manhattan and the legal pad. When I came out to head home with many new words on the pages I saw how lovely the lights are at dusk.
And then down into my neighborhood where the stops are all pulled out for some houses.
The cats were waiting for me by the front door.
Sadie gave me twelve toes on what I have written so far.
This morning with Oscar Wilde sitting next to me, this was the view coming onto the road home.
Seemed like a good day to continue writing but first I needed to get bookmarks for the three books waiting to be finished or opened. That led me down a memory lane of trips to Australia. The things I most often purchased were bookmarks and threads of all the colors I saw in that place. Darwin had a different palette of colors than Tasmania, Victoria from New South Wales…and so on. One of the bookmarks came from a fancy tea house in the middle of nowhere in Queensland while being driven to Brisbane to catch a flight back home. And that all led to fixing myself a cup of tea.
A little more Australia indulgence.
And then when I pulled out the tea infuser I remembered how labor-intensive weaving these were. Everyone at a Christmas dinner had one straddling their wine glass with their name on a tag hung from it.
I still have lee’s that he hardly used because he was a tea bag guy with only one type that he liked. Mine, as you can see is very tea stained and I feel like I am sharing tea with those favorite people who are no longer here in person.
Most of my Christmas presents have been wrapped and tucked away. Just a couple impulse ones yet to arrive. Speaking of which, I am wondering if I should buy the new Dyson vacuum that hangs in a charging station. Their ads even show a woman waving it overhead to vacuum her ceiling! Who does that?! But my old Dyson is really a pain to shove across the area rugs. I gets bogged down and requires a good shove and pull back. Plus the “wand” has to be pulled out and flung about until I manage to get it poked under furniture where the cats find a way to pack with their hair. This new battery charged one seems to want to go everywhere with very little effort. The family call is tonight so I will ask what they think and more importantly which one wants to take this behemoth off my hands.
Sitting in my studio writing I just saw the mail lady put something in my mailbox. I have convinced myself that it is something not only important but desired. I am going to take the less than one minute to get from here where it is warm, go out into the chilly afternoon, and return.
In the box was a lovely card from a long time family friend. And laying on the bench out front was one of the Christmas gifts I was waiting for.
I need to go for a walk but the wind and cooler temperatures are telling me to just walk through the house one hundred times. I will start with twenty and check my Fitbit.
I bought a pizza while I was out last night and will finish it for dinner. Part of me is happy not to have to face another bowl of vegetable soup!
Here is an excerpt from a new short story I am working on. It is supposed to be about the reclusive cataloger in a library but I am totally caught up in how those numbers get there in the first place. Trying to explain why I wanted to use the Dewey Decimal System in a short story to our local librarian was a real and present danger of a right brained person trying to get information from a left brained person. She rightly gave up on my notions of placement mattering to the books involved and sent me off with a couple of sheets of paper showing what those numbers and categories mean. It is quite helpful but falls short of the feelings that books might have about how and where they are placed on the shelf.
Excerpt from a story in progress titled, Joey.
“He picks up three books from one of the stacks and walks into the spaces between row upon row of books that have been coded to belong with others like them. It is important that none have strayed for too long from where they belong.
Each book has a code on a small white paper taped to its lower spine. This code of numbers and letters makes it clear where a book belongs and who its companions are likely to be. It is the book’s home, a place to feel closeness, to rub shoulders with those that are similar and so familiar.
Some will never leave the others’ side. Some are separated for brief periods of time, leaving a temporary space of emptiness. And some must adjust to being permanently parted when a more in-depth, detailed, knowledgeable book comes between them.”
So enough for today…better get pacing about the house.