I am lying in bed in my treehouse house, listening to the rain.
Steven is off at the Zen Center and left me with a perfectly beautiful latte in a thermos cup so if I wanted to, I could go back to sleep and it would still be serviceably warm. Scattered over the bed are my most recent library books: Marjane Satrapi's latest cartoon novella, My Kind of Place (Susan Orlean, mentioned before),The Devil in White City, and a collection of Gay Talese's portraits. Oh, I am a lucky girl.
Tomorrow we are having dinner guests (Diane and Jay) and I have yet to figure out exactly what we'll be having, other than homemade vanilla ice cream. I do know that I have yet to find four placemats or napkins that match. This worries me.
Weekends also are a connumdrum. I never plan for them and feel very boring without anything to propose when one asks, "What shall we do?".