Wednesday, November 21, 2012

'twill be my theme in glory...

2 a.m. on Wednesday: awake again after 3 or 4 hours sleep on the couch, despite good resolutions.  Remembering that Wednesday this week is GARBAGE DAY (and there shall be great rejoicing), got up and got the debris out to the curb.  Cleaned out the cat-box while I was at it, because, after all, why not?  And the cat was mighty appreciative.  Temperature just above zero Fahrenheit, dead still, about an inch of clean new snow.  Quiet.

Located the blessed keys Tuesday morning first thing, thanks to beloved Daughter Unit.  These were my “spares” on a Fierce Purple nylon climbing sling (all the lanyards I saw looked suspiciously flimsy) and a couple of carabiners, one of them also Fierce Purple (church keys).  I have to unlock five doors in succession to get into my office in the morning, most of them two-handed; that is, they require one hand to turn the key and the second to pull the door handle, as pulling on the key alone damages the lock.  Two hands accounted for, we hold the purse, the book-bag, the shoe-bag in our front teeth, perhaps?  This is one of those “Meanwhile, back in Canada…” problems, obviously.

So I have a car-key for the ignition on its own, in my handbag, and a house-key on a modest ring carabiner’ed to my handbag, and duplicates of both, plus church-keys, on the around-my-neck arrangement.  The Rambler likes to be SURE.

Staff meeting consisting of some parts planning, some parts coordination of schedules, and some parts overlapping simultaneous literary criticism in portions nested one within the other like Russian dolls (well, yes, you DO have to be there…).

Read some things and wrote some things; conferred with colleagues.  Long and uplifting conversation on how we discern and play the end-game as well as possible (“fastened to a dying animal,” thank you Mr. Yeats).  We also duly deplored the outcome of the C of E General Synod re: women bishops.  I came away late afternoon for home via the Beloved Defunct Vice-Regal Person Memorial branch of the city library.  Turned in Robert Parker and Zadie Smith, and played with the catalogue for a while and checked in with young-uns via Facebook (also accessible on library computers).  Borrowed some Wendell Berry essays, some David Foster Wallace essays, a collection of Dickens’ letters, and Lemony Snicket’s Horseradish.  The last because I had a short loan Tuesday morning of The Latke That Wouldn’t Stop Screaming by the same author.  A “well, well, well” moment if not precisely an “Aha” moment.

Home at last.  Brought in the mail.  Listened to the phone messages.  Nuked some not-too-terrible frozen cannelloni, and ate them.  Had a glass of wine. Watched the news.  Fell asleep.
Now 4 a.m., and gentle thumps and bumps outside (with squeaky new-snow footsteps) indicate delivery of the newspaper.  The Wonder Cat is all we-stand-on-guard-for-thee inside the front door, so brave (such a fraud).

A funeral today (afternoon)…a lot of reading and writing and some domestic re-arrangements, I think.

And now, a cup of tea and one of the new library books, for a bit.

Monday, November 19, 2012

creeping back toward the light...

It’s 6:30.  The furnace thinks I’m now out of bed, and is kicking the temperature up to 68 F accordingly (from 64 overnight, not bad).
I’ve been up for some time – about an hour and a half.  I’ve read a National Geographic article on the Lakota people and life on the rez in South Dakota.  I’ve read quite a lot of Zadie Smith, review essays in a collection called Changing My Mind.  It’s due at the public library tomorrow.  Maybe I can figure out how to renew it on line?
I’ve taken my meds, and drunk a glass of water, and eaten two pieces of toast (home-made bread: one with peanut butter, one with honey) and made a POT of coffee from fresh-ground, and drunk most of a mug of it.
Finished the big crossword from the weekend paper.  Bundled the weekend paper into the recycle bin.  Unloaded the dishwasher from yesterday, and put odds and ends of dirty things in it.  Disassembled and cleaned my espresso pot.  Added skim milk to my shopping list. 
Considered for a bit just what I want to think of as DONE by bedtime tonight: organize my Christmas cards and list…put clean clothes away…write the better part of 50 personal notes to enclose with a seasonal charity appeal…box up some journals for transfer to a library elsewhere…clean the cat’s box…clean the email inbox!!!  Write a half dozen overdue letters…vacuum and mop the kitchen floor…clear the kitchen table, the dining-room table, and the laundry-room table.  Make a start on the pantry.  Concoct vegetable stock for soup base.  Think a bit about a meal plan for this week.
Straightened up the sofa cushions (where I slept the first part of the night last night).  Made the 187th reaffirmation of resolution not to do that again…

8:30.  Bathed, dressed, ready for the day (using the term loosely).  The usual swathe of Hummers and Escalades bearing junior-elementary types to the school over the way has come and gone again.  It’s looking like a cloudless day on the way (sun just barely-barely UP).  Had a glass of juice and read today’s paper and did the easy Monday puzzles (“Japanese sash” in three letters, first letter “o” and last letter “i”), read the obits and the comics and glanced at the editorials.  Disregarded the sports section.  The National Classic next week involves only the Hated Calgaries and the Hated Torontoes, I am cheering for both of them to lose.
I think I can take this day in 20-minute lumps, if I pace myself.  So the next 20-minute lump will be Mattins.  
Midnight.  The first reading for Mattins was from I Maccabees.  It included just about my favourite Scripture verse EVER: "et cecidit elephans super ipsum, et mortuus est illic."  And the elephant fell on him.  And he died.  Well, you WOULD, wouldn’t you?
Spent a happy evening babysitting the wonder-grandbaby.  She was undeceived by her parents’ surreptitious departure to choir practice, and disposed briefly to fist-fight her grandma over the Bedtime Question, but settled down and went to sleep quite promptly anyway.
Roads were good, but fog settling in as I drove home.  Tomorrow is also a day—and I can’t find my keys.