A perfect day. Except for the cold coming back with a vengeance and settling in my chest, that is.
I turned out 3,095 words in Il Maestro e le Figlie di Coro, which is shaping up to be a novelette or novella and not a story at all. It stands at 5,281 words already.
I made beef stew, which has another half-hour to go in the slow cooker, and we’ll have it with the rest of the mashed potatoes seasoned with onion and sour cream that I made for feast following yesterday’s Samhain ritual.
I walked to the post office this morning to pick up a parcel from my mother, who sent me the two books she’d promised to lend me at Christmas, a selection of magazine clippings, and imported British chocolate bars as food for the soul now that the book has been handed in.
And on top of it all, I discovered that the set of speakers and subwoofer I’d been eyeing to replace those that died this weekend is on sale this week, at 50% off the regular price.
Yes, indeed. The day’s been a very good one.
So now it’s on to delicious stew, a soothing warm bath, and reading in bed for a while.
One: I am astonished to discover that I have next to no Vivaldi recordings. I have the ubiquitous Four Seasons and an album of double concerti (for the double cello concerto, of course), and once upon a time there was also my beloved Il Giardino Armonico The Red Priest album that was enthusiastically lent to someone (who?) the week after I got it and subsequently lost track of it, but that seemed to be it until I remembered that all my cello CDs are on a different shelf. Still, there are only two more albums of cello concerti and sonatas there. Sounds like it’s time to invest in a couple of low-budget CDs of general instrumental stuff, and the Gloria, at the least. (Naxos, you are my friend.)
Two: The speakers I’ve been using for my computer have finally died. They died an honourable death, being the first set of high-quality speakers I received with my Discman back when I was seventeenish, so they’ve been in steady use for eighteen years or so. The only problem is that my sound card doesn’t have a speaker on it, so I’ve had to hunt out my big cushiony headphones and the cable extension to reach to the port on the back of the computer tower. Working with headphones is very odd. I’m not sure if I like it or not yet.
So here I am, at eight-thirty in the morning, a cup of tea at hand and the whole day ahead of me. HRH took Liam in to daycare this morning on his way into work and will pick him up again at the end of the day, leaving me the whole day with absolutely no responsibility. I’ve wandered through the house tidying up a bit, simply appreciating the feeling of not having to do anything right away.
Liam slept through the night, with no waking sounding as if he was a harbinger of the apocalypse. As a result he slept right through to 7.30, which wasn’t part of the plan: because his pattern has been wake around three-thirty for an hour/return to sleep/wake around five-thirty or six, we were relying on him to awaken early again. The sleep did everyone good, but it meant that we started the morning an hour and a half later than we expected to. Everyone was in such a good mood that it didn’t matter, though, and it was a gift for all three of us. It felt odd to kiss the boy goodbye and watch HRH bundle him into the car and drive away, when I’m usually the one corralling and transporting him, then running errands on the way home, writing immediately when I get in, and leaving just as I’m hitting my stride during my most productive time of the day in order to pick him up again.
I deserve this. I didn’t get the break I was hoping to have back at the beginning of August when the boy started part-time daycare, the break I needed after the sequence of “book interrupted by rush book/back to original book/early baby/finish original book/full-time baby/new book”. And I’m thankful to finally have this time, the time I need and have needed for so long, to rest in different ways and to reroot myself in life.
So naturally, now that I don’t have to, now that I have time to myself… I’m drifting here to write. It’s a different kind of writing, though; it’s relaxing, and feeds a different part of me. It’s restful writing.