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It's so much cooler now than it was last week. I feel like I'm actually living again, rather than laboring to exist from moment to moment. The air, while not perfect, is much clearer after the rain.
OH finished the bookshelves under the breakfast bar (pictures soon!), and we're both a bit dismayed to realize we have far more 15" tall coffee table books on various subjects than we even thought. Some of them will have to be shelved on their sides. Plus to that, the spines can be read easily. This coming week will be me pulling shorter books and fitting taller ones on the adjustable living room shelves, as the hall (bar) shelves are built for standard hardcovers. I'd kill for a library where I could shelve by subject, then author, then pub. date. But as things are, I shelve by size. And within that constraint, I try to organize by subject, and then by author, where I can. But mainly, it's all by size.
Since it's the anniversary of our son's death, we decided to drive out toward Deception Pass, where his ashes are scattered. The parking lot on Pass Island was jammed, so there was no hope of stopping, or having a private moment today, so we kept driving. Someone has planted trees and a garden around the massive chunk of driftwood that resembles a dragon and is locally known affectionately as Nessie. Thoughtful, but in a season or two she won't be visible from the road, standing guard on the cliff above the strait.
We drove out to Ebey Point--couldn't see the mountains on the far side of the water, but we found a gap in the sea oats that line the road by the beach and parked where we could watch and hear the breakers, as well as the grass blades and seed heads of the oats rustling in the constant offshore breeze. We'd planned to cut the stereo when we stopped, but Native American flute and drums were playing and it somehow seemed appropriate. We'd brought a fresh rye boule and a small tub of sweet butter, fresh zucchini, a bit of leftover smoked salmon, some very sharp cheddar (and string cheese, because picnic!), a handful of white grapes and another of home grown yellow cherry tomatoes. No conversation necessary at all, beyond, "More butter?" or, "Grape?" It was lovely.
I count as one of my great achievements getting OH to accept that hunks *torn* off a loaf of fresh bread are always better than a careful slice--more nooks and crannies for the butter! More texture, more flavor! Plus, that atavistic satisfaction of primitive humanoid ripping off a fistful of food and eating it out of hand.
I hope everyone had an agreeable Sunday.
OH finished the bookshelves under the breakfast bar (pictures soon!), and we're both a bit dismayed to realize we have far more 15" tall coffee table books on various subjects than we even thought. Some of them will have to be shelved on their sides. Plus to that, the spines can be read easily. This coming week will be me pulling shorter books and fitting taller ones on the adjustable living room shelves, as the hall (bar) shelves are built for standard hardcovers. I'd kill for a library where I could shelve by subject, then author, then pub. date. But as things are, I shelve by size. And within that constraint, I try to organize by subject, and then by author, where I can. But mainly, it's all by size.
Since it's the anniversary of our son's death, we decided to drive out toward Deception Pass, where his ashes are scattered. The parking lot on Pass Island was jammed, so there was no hope of stopping, or having a private moment today, so we kept driving. Someone has planted trees and a garden around the massive chunk of driftwood that resembles a dragon and is locally known affectionately as Nessie. Thoughtful, but in a season or two she won't be visible from the road, standing guard on the cliff above the strait.
We drove out to Ebey Point--couldn't see the mountains on the far side of the water, but we found a gap in the sea oats that line the road by the beach and parked where we could watch and hear the breakers, as well as the grass blades and seed heads of the oats rustling in the constant offshore breeze. We'd planned to cut the stereo when we stopped, but Native American flute and drums were playing and it somehow seemed appropriate. We'd brought a fresh rye boule and a small tub of sweet butter, fresh zucchini, a bit of leftover smoked salmon, some very sharp cheddar (and string cheese, because picnic!), a handful of white grapes and another of home grown yellow cherry tomatoes. No conversation necessary at all, beyond, "More butter?" or, "Grape?" It was lovely.
I count as one of my great achievements getting OH to accept that hunks *torn* off a loaf of fresh bread are always better than a careful slice--more nooks and crannies for the butter! More texture, more flavor! Plus, that atavistic satisfaction of primitive humanoid ripping off a fistful of food and eating it out of hand.
I hope everyone had an agreeable Sunday.
