Sweet to have a layer of soft cloud to gentle the morning after days of miseryheat. BrotherB sits at the kitchen table relishing his oatmeal (raisins! pecans! raw honey!) and banana and milk and dish of supplements (calcium, vitamin D, and so on). I'm in the next room with my own version of breakfast, and doing this instead of what I wish I was doing - lying in bed with a book.
Sunday was my day for that, a recharge day after the crazy Saturdays when I work hardest traveling after used books at sales and then cleaning and repairing them, and finally adding them to my online inventory. Blessed Sunday, before scary Monday and resumption of social responsibility.
Not lately, though, and I'm a little wistful about it.
But I do get to see the friends who could not visit otherwise. A couple of lovely ladies I have not seen in ages will arrive in 90 minutes, quite by surprise. I have nothing but hugs and words to give them, but I am so pleased and grateful they think of visiting me. Then at noon come GameDay friends, for whom only Sunday meetings will work.
When you're a little high on the autism spectrum you take your social life where you can.
Had I awakened today, as yesterday, at 6, I would have had hours of quiet time in the rear yard with my coffee and cat. But that extra visit this morning, unexpected as it is (hastily arranged just yesterday evening), had to be rehearsed to death through half the night, and so I struggled into sleep, and then slept late.
Now I have barely an hour to vacuum the joint and spruce myself up a little. I don't know how normal people do it.
6.28.2015
6.27.2015
Like a bicycle
I'd almost forgotten how to sign in and post text to this thing.
I suppose I'll climb back on and see how far I can go. I'd despaired of ever writing again, but now I think - maybe ...
It's 7:23 here at the start of what will surely be a very hot Saturday. Thunderclouds and scent of rain passed over in the night, to our delight. The air is sweet and still a little cool at this hour, with cacophany of sparrows and persistent coo of dove. They always are so happy to be alive.
I awoke to a handful of book sales in the online chute, and that is a very good thing. Sales have been spotty for months, and four titles at one go is a gift indeed. We'll keep eating.
I see the blooms on the volunteer hollyhock (grown lush and tall in the doorside half-barrel of melissa and catmint) finally reveal themselves, opening a dark glossy blood-red. Well, surprise! no frilly pastels for this family!
Now to the little stack of packing slips: a science textbook, a vintage paperback on hunting jungle animals, a Christian tract (my first sale to Guam!), a first-edition 1066 and All That. Hope I can track them all down.
I suppose I'll climb back on and see how far I can go. I'd despaired of ever writing again, but now I think - maybe ...
It's 7:23 here at the start of what will surely be a very hot Saturday. Thunderclouds and scent of rain passed over in the night, to our delight. The air is sweet and still a little cool at this hour, with cacophany of sparrows and persistent coo of dove. They always are so happy to be alive.
I awoke to a handful of book sales in the online chute, and that is a very good thing. Sales have been spotty for months, and four titles at one go is a gift indeed. We'll keep eating.
I see the blooms on the volunteer hollyhock (grown lush and tall in the doorside half-barrel of melissa and catmint) finally reveal themselves, opening a dark glossy blood-red. Well, surprise! no frilly pastels for this family!
Now to the little stack of packing slips: a science textbook, a vintage paperback on hunting jungle animals, a Christian tract (my first sale to Guam!), a first-edition 1066 and All That. Hope I can track them all down.
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