I'm sitting here looking out the window over my computer. It's still shady in spots on my patio. I see the sun shining through the tree leaves, which will soon be bare.
I am looking at the wheat-like tops of the ornamental grasses I planted swaying in the breeze.
Life is good.
I started this book last night. What surprised me the most is how this book is set up. The author was very clever. She writes what different people in the community are saying to themselves and journalists wanting to know their take about "what has happened."
Thing is, we do not know yet what has happened. Because the book goes back say, six months, then the next chapter: five months before this happened. And you're reading along thinking: what in the heck happened? Has to be something big. But you're not going to be privy to that information until you go through the preceding months and get to that point when "it happened."
Very savvy of this author, because I've never seen a book set up in a plot in just this way. And it fascinates me. I WANT TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED. Yet I want to know what happened before. Because as we all know, many times things build up to what happens, so we might as well know, in this instance, what built up to "what happened."
Did that sentence make any sense whatsoever?
The other day I knocked one of my red and white polka dotted salad plates to the floor. It's almost like it happens in slow motion. You see the tilt to the plate, then you know that my mouth is forming an "O" because oh Lord, there goes one of my favorite salad plates.
I wait for the crash, then watch the shards scatter everywhere. And my heart kind of sinks, because, five minutes ago I had this pretty plate. And now I don't.
Not the end of the world. So I go on with my day.
Finally yesterday I decided to stop making the bed up all pretty, only for Charlie to catch wind of a gnat in the house, and then proceed to tear it all up seeking a refuge from a mighty scary gnat that has found its way in.
So I stripped the bed down to the fitted sheet, and added a quilt at the bottom to be pulled up when I feel the need for cover. Otherwise I come in here and find a lump (that is Charlie) quivering underneath the covers he has plunged underneath. Pillows scattered hither and yon about the floor.
I decided to not make him fight all that. I throw a thin blanket (not in the picture) over all this that you see above, where Abi is holding court, and he can rush underneath quickly, and hopefully with less anxiety.
I just wrote a blog post about several things that don't have any correlation to one another. Which is pretty common for me.
Have a good day. And hopefully a favorite plate will not fall to the floor and break into a zillion pieces.