Category Archives: Home & Garden

Rage donating*

A click. A clack. I throw my few bucks into the blue bin.

It’s sweatshirt cold this morning. Last night I dreamt about a murder in the woods, knowing that we are planning to go to a wooded park on the North Shore today. It wasn’t really a nightmare, somehow.

Three-eighths of binding done on C’s quilt. Agatha Christie Miss Marple the choice of the afternoon.

A 4.5 earthquake in Southern California hours ago. I wish people would stop asking, Can 2020 get any worse?

Because of course it can.

As much as the anxiety of these final weeks is a metallic tang in my mouth, I am also genuinely curious to see how the judicial nomination plays out. Careers will be made and lost over this.

*not my term. Twitter, of course.

Rage donating*

A click. A clack. I throw my few bucks into the blue bin.

It’s sweatshirt cold this morning. Last night I dreamt about a murder in the woods, knowing that we are planning to go to a wooded park on the North Shore today. It wasn’t really a nightmare, somehow.

Three-eighths of binding done on C’s quilt. Agatha Christie Miss Marple the choice of the afternoon.

A 4.5 earthquake in Southern California hours ago. I wish people would stop asking, Can 2020 get any worse?

Because of course it can.

As much as the anxiety of these final weeks is a metallic tang in my mouth, I am also genuinely curious to see how the judicial nomination plays out. Careers will be made and lost over this.

*not my term. Twitter, of course.

“It’ll start getting cooler”

It’s 60 degrees here. Crickets sing their autumnal songs. Hard not to feel blessed, with zero hurricanes coming at us and zero fires raging nearby. The finches are feeding on the echinacea seed heads near the side door. When I come out, they fly off, startled and pretty.

K went to work today for only the second time since March 13. There were 313 Covid cases in Massachusetts yesterday, so I don’t know? Finn understood the change and stayed up in bed with me.

I am adding batting to the single-layer sections of the global warming quilt. Tricky. Fussy in a way that would be avoided if I were a Point-A-to-Point-B creator. Believe me, sometimes I wish I was.

But just look at that amaranth! It is one of the few glorious results of my seed planting efforts this year. Exactly ONE of the dozens of sunflower seeds I planted survived the rabbits.

The huge squash leaves came from a rogue seed that took root when a piece of compost fell into a yard waste bin and took off! I love how surprises arrive in the garden with a casual regularity that defy their miraculous nature.

Sunrise 6:17

One of the things you can do when you’ve been awake since one and puttering about since three, is watch the sunrise.

Earlier: I bathed in moonlight. It’s a waning gibbous moon, but very bright. There were shadows.

In a show of solidarity, Finn followed me out and after sitting close and nudging my hand for scratches, curled up in my armpit. That’s the kind of moment dogs give you over and over, willingly and without reserve.

I was lying on the grass on my hard plastic bolster. It may or may not do anything corrective for my spine, that bolster, but every time I stretch my length on it, I groan with pleasure.

Back release under the moonlight. That’s about as radical as it gets these days!

Usually when I don’t sleep, I don’t have to be concerned about accomplishing much the following day. Today company is coming for a patio dinner.

I worry about these encounters, a little. I keep reading about people who “did everything right” and found themselves sick with Covid19 anyway. One such tale centered around an outdoor dinner, no other known possible exposure.

On the other hand, a psychologist friend seeded the idea this week that a kind of de-socialization is taking place. We’re forgetting how to interact with one another. So it seems important to do this. To visit and connect.

Earlier (but after moonlight): finished a memoir by Abigail Thomas. I’d already read the one where she talks about how her husband was mowed down on a NYC street and left with a traumatic brain injury. A Three Dog Life. Well worth the read.

What Comes Next and How to Like It features really great stuff about aging, friendship, relationships with kids and grandkids. Memory. Illness. She’s a dog person big time, so there’s that, too.

I recommended this book to a friend who’s writing a memoir in part because of how short and sweet many of Thomas’s chapters are — almost like diary entries, often no more than two paragraphs long. Somehow, it makes the business of constructing a memoir seem more doable.

Have to share with you a great new term picked up on Twitter: DOOM SCROLLING.*

No definition required, right?

I did that before I got out of bed. In case you’re inclined to suggest that I not expose myself to toxic terrifying national news while lying awake in the middle of the night — let me just say, I wasn’t gonna sleep anyway.

*Imani Gandi @AngryBlackLady

Back to back days of summer

Plans for patio entertainment on. Then off. Rain storms swept through. Of course now, approaching the dinner hour, it is clearing.

No matter. Another super-focused day of writing under my belt.

A short walk with Finn and K after the second rain. A nearby cul de sac has the most beautiful garden.

It occurred to me while watering the garden yesterday, that we probably have never spent so many summer days at home before.

I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: there is something very grounding about staying put. I don’t think it’s any accident that I have been able to work mornings and afternoons on my book. That has NEVER happened before.