Ah, the comfort of wandering our town library and finding something by a favorite author. And once home, possibly setting it aside in the pile, to read last.
And then the moment when you finally open it, read the first
page and realize it’s familiar. . . .
And then seeing your own initials.
There’s been so much going on in the past two hours, I’m beginning to wonder if I’m retired after all. What started out as a pretty ordinary day definitely picked up speed in the afternoon.
Not a heckofa lot going on here. Nowhere I needed to be, so I meandered through the morning. Enjoyed my tea, finally put on some clothes and did a walk around the complex. I then made a trip to the library, where I noted that the rose bushes there that I volunteered to tend needed me to return with clippers in hand for dead-heading.
Lately, the odds are pretty high of finding me at a standstill in front of the open fridge sniffing barbecue sauce or with my nose in the jar of kalamata olives.
I broke one of my own personal rules last week and bought a pair of linen pants. Don’t get me wrong. I love linen. But on someone else - those kind of people who look all flowy and carefree, carrying off each wrinkle with aplomb.
