Sunday morning, not terribly early, but new enough to witness a hoary frost. I had a strange night, waking three times, once after a dream, the variety where I thought I was awake, my body gazing upon the glow of street lamps stealing through drawn curtains. I heard rain and was absolutely delighted, the ground hard and dry from its lack. But the gentle patter soon turned into a deluge and began to inundate our house, so I dashed out of bed and was hit by a wall of water, beautiful with rectangular flashes of white light that grabbed me by the wrists and kept me from swimming. I awoke to the tender prodding of the hubster, saying he heard an awful whimper. Oh dear, did we have a good cuddle after that.
I am loving my new camera! It takes a bobby dazzler of a photo and has so many new-to-me features. I shall be busy with it for ages and ages, frittering the time enchanted by all my view finder reveals, the world on glorious display. I forget the cold, the hour, and start at the voice of another soul. “Good morning neighbor, how are you?”
Presently listening to My Morning Jacket (do you know their cover of Rocket Man? The best!), while pondering a funny day. Normally, I am the resident dervish, cleaning, cooking, talking, and dancing about, but yesterday, in an amusing and quite unusual turn, my presence was feather light and spare. The hubster, on the other hand, did laundry, vacuumed, mopped, took down the holiday decor, baked brownies (a first), and even uttered a few very Colleen witticisms! Kooky! And, as I was contemplating it, he said, “You are quiet today, Buddy. Are you okay?” To which I planted a jubilant kiss on his delicious cheek and giggled and made a reference to Freaky Friday, one of my favorite movies as a kid. Shall I dare put it in the Neflix queue? Oh, yes!
So there you have it, my Sunday, random and sundry as it was. Hoping yours was lovely or silly and always fun!
We had a little hot spell and took it in stride, kicking it in our hillbilly swimming pool and eating food that requires no cooking. Boysenberries and peas grown in our very own garden patch and my not world famous but maybe it ought to be(!) spicy peanut sauce. Oh, and a little pink fizzy wine – doing it like the French do.
Until Benjamin showed up and we lost all interest, because, well, you know. Something tells me there will be more of this in our future.
