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Woodrat of Shadow
Oct. 17th, 2020 09:11 pmThe Sparrowhawk is not feeling well. He says it feels as if he's coming down with a cold. Yesterday, I noticed that he seemed tired and chilled easily. We were having our afternoon tea, reading, and writing time, and I noticed that his hands were cold. I went and got the plaid blanket, because that's what it's for, and once he was covered up and warm, he promptly fell asleep. This is concerning, because every little thing is concerning these days! Also because I can't figure out where he got cold germs, because we never go anywhere. And if I can't keep out the cold germs, it makes me worried that I couldn't keep out coronavirus either.
Yesterday for me was a wasteland of bad sleeping. I was up for a looong time in the middle of the night, and had to go back to sleep when it got light. This laid waste to the morning. I barely managed to take a shower before Zooming with Deb and the Prussian. That is always invigorating. After that, we had bands of rain and brief sun, blown across and away by a strong wind. It was sunny just before supper, so the Sparrowhawk encouraged me to get out for a quick walk while he put the walleye in the oven. I walked on paths of gold, where the leaves had fallen, and the colors and scents of autumn cheered me up, but as I came up out of the woods, I saw my shadow lurching on ahead of me, and felt dejected. I tried to walk briskly and straight forward instead of like an elderly drunk, but that doesn't seem as easy as it once was. We tried watching the 2020 "The Secret Garden" with Colin Firth. It was AWFUL. Words cannot express. They gutted this lovely story and replaced its heart with smarmy, stupefyingly mawkish and unworkable plot points and unbelievable dialog. Okay, the scenery was nice, but nothing that took place there made any sense at all. I hope poor Colin Firth besmirched himself with this dreadful piece of dreck out of misplaced kindness to a friend, and not because he needs money that badly.
Today was better. The soft pretzel truck was in the parking lot at the bookstore, so we got books AND pretzels. The pretzels were fat and hot, and we took them home and ate them with spicy brown mustard. We haven't had any that good since Pennsylvania. Then I went out and pursued my genocidal madness against the buckthorn for awhile. I took down another four or five trunks, and cut them up with my tree scissors so I could stack them in a way that's not quite as disorderly. I've learned more about buckthorn and its growing habits than I really wanted to know. Almost everything about this plant annoys me--but I cannot entirely resent its rude zest for living and taking over everything. There's SO much more of it. I'll just keep hacking. I made the Sparrowhawk some beef stroganoff and mashed potatoes for dinner. It's a mundane dish, but it is pretty tasty, and it goes down easy. Then I cleaned up the kitchen as well. I didn't go for a walk, but I got over 8000 steps just buzzing around the house and yard.
Yesterday for me was a wasteland of bad sleeping. I was up for a looong time in the middle of the night, and had to go back to sleep when it got light. This laid waste to the morning. I barely managed to take a shower before Zooming with Deb and the Prussian. That is always invigorating. After that, we had bands of rain and brief sun, blown across and away by a strong wind. It was sunny just before supper, so the Sparrowhawk encouraged me to get out for a quick walk while he put the walleye in the oven. I walked on paths of gold, where the leaves had fallen, and the colors and scents of autumn cheered me up, but as I came up out of the woods, I saw my shadow lurching on ahead of me, and felt dejected. I tried to walk briskly and straight forward instead of like an elderly drunk, but that doesn't seem as easy as it once was. We tried watching the 2020 "The Secret Garden" with Colin Firth. It was AWFUL. Words cannot express. They gutted this lovely story and replaced its heart with smarmy, stupefyingly mawkish and unworkable plot points and unbelievable dialog. Okay, the scenery was nice, but nothing that took place there made any sense at all. I hope poor Colin Firth besmirched himself with this dreadful piece of dreck out of misplaced kindness to a friend, and not because he needs money that badly.
Today was better. The soft pretzel truck was in the parking lot at the bookstore, so we got books AND pretzels. The pretzels were fat and hot, and we took them home and ate them with spicy brown mustard. We haven't had any that good since Pennsylvania. Then I went out and pursued my genocidal madness against the buckthorn for awhile. I took down another four or five trunks, and cut them up with my tree scissors so I could stack them in a way that's not quite as disorderly. I've learned more about buckthorn and its growing habits than I really wanted to know. Almost everything about this plant annoys me--but I cannot entirely resent its rude zest for living and taking over everything. There's SO much more of it. I'll just keep hacking. I made the Sparrowhawk some beef stroganoff and mashed potatoes for dinner. It's a mundane dish, but it is pretty tasty, and it goes down easy. Then I cleaned up the kitchen as well. I didn't go for a walk, but I got over 8000 steps just buzzing around the house and yard.
