|The Early Warm Gets the Bird
||[Feb. 25th, 2020|01:39 am]
The sleeping late has claimed another day. It was going on half past one when I woke Monday afternoon, and I probably would have slept later had the new neighbors not banged something against the wall while moving in a new piece of furniture (at least I assume that's what it was. As the building has a concrete slab floor, the body of a murder victim hitting it would not resonate that way.) I got up and went out into the back yard and drank my orange juice in the distressingly balmy afternoon air. How my much younger self would have loved it! How my aging self who worries about drought conditions and water rationing, but enjoys not being chilled, felt ambivalent about it! |
Then it was futzing about on the Internet and doing various domestic tasks, and then of to the Goodwill store and Trader Joe's. Goodwill's bookshelves provided me with an interesting looking book called Pre-Raphaelites in Love, by Gay Daly. It focuses on the lives of several women who were models, lovers, and in some cases spouses of some of the major figures in the pre-Raphaelite movement in Victorian England. It's mostly text, of course, but includes a dozen color plates of paintings by the artists (and of the women) in the in the book.
I've been drinking icy drinks all day, and just finished one off minutes ago. It's very weird, considering that just days ago I was shivering whenever I stepped out the door by night. The furnace hasn't even come on yet tonight, and it's still 68 degrees in here. I'm still holding out hope that March will somehow turn wintry, or at least a bit rainy, but it's a very slender hope. The highs are going to be in the seventies all the rest of this week. It's truly an appalling situation. The anticipation of summer now fills me with genuine dread. February feels like spring, but it smells like doom. Sun, Sun, go away, come again another day.