WhiteFir of Shadow

My bed seemed particularly cozy and warm last night. Perhaps because, when I woke up, I learned that pitter patter in the night was not rain. Not rain exactly. It was something I can't quite describe. A kind of pale, semifreddo thing that failed to fall like rain or float like snowflakes, but instead plummeted to earth like a host of mini-Lucifers hurled out of what Yeats called a "cold and rook-delighting heaven." After an hour or so, a pale frost had built up on the still green and lush blades of grass. So I guess this counts as the first snow? It was weather ambiguous. But one thing's for sure, summer it was not. I failed to seamlessly make the switch from "things I must do outside" to "things I must do inside" and noodled around quite a bit in the morning. Eventually I put laundry away and changed the sheets on the bed and washed the used ones, because we won't be able to use the washer and dryer for a couple of days. The waterproofers are coming tomorrow. I thought about what kind of cake to make for a funeral on Sunday. I wish I were not going to this darn thing, because I've had enough funerals to last me a long time. However, I want to stand by my fellow musicians, who are playing, so I might as well bake, too. I will make something nice for Dr. Nurse at the same time, so I can return her tupperware full of treats rather than empty. That will take the curse off the funereal baking.

We went to the bookstore in the afternoon, because it was raining again by then, and gloomy. There I did a little bit of writing. The Sparrowhawk made a delicious broiled salmon and fried potatoes for dinner, with the reheated cabbage, carrots, onions and apples that I made earlier this week. My little coracle is still bobbing on the dark waves of ominous brain chemicals, but I'm keeping afloat. We were watching "The Good Place," and Vicky the demon gave a stirring speech about how the idea that anyone can change for the better is a big lie and Michael is still just a vile demon. I could feel myself quailing and starting to sink into thoughts of "Oh she's right and everything is terrible." Then I was like, "Seriously? Are you going to be depressed by a fake demon on TV? Well you ARE a cheap date--for demons. Get a grip!" It was 10 pm and I was suddenly possessed by a powerful feeling of hunger. I was about to eat something when once again, reality intervened. I thought, "It's 10 pm! If you eat food now, you are going to be so sorry." I put the box back in the refrigerator. Now it's 11:30, and my stomach is thanking me. Dodging bullets all the way, like Wonder Woman and her magic bracelets.