thursday
it's a contemplative sort of day. a day that finds me observing, remembering, pondering, life and relationships and all the tiny details that give our lives colour and depth and pathos and meaning.
i'm curled up on our living room couch, listening to the genteel pulse of the mantel clock, while Greta vroom-vrooms her wooden blocks around the floor like so many little cars, then suddenly hurtles across the room to look out the window, barefeet slapping unevenly on the hardwood. Kaiser lets out a soft warning bark as someone walks down the sidewalk outside. the comforting scent of rosemary wafts in from the kitchen, where the filling for tonight's steak and cheese pie is cooking. (it's a classic British dish, in honor of today being the Feast of St. George, and i am unashamed to say that i got the recipe from a Buzzfeed article.)
the living room is strewn with books, the pots and pans from Greta's kitchen set, and a few errant plastic Easter eggs. her Easter basket still sits on the coffee table, having become a toy in itself (put things in, take things out). "Mom-my! Mom-my!" she calls from the dining room, where she's poking her play spoon into the holes in the grate. then she starts humming to herself, an absent-minded little tune, and comes running back over to her play kitchen to put her pans on the range.
she looks up and discovers for the first time that there's a cordless phone attached to the side of the microwave. she gleefully claps the phone to her ear and exclaims, "Dada? Dada?" followed by a string of unintelligible chatter. Nick is her favourite person to call, whether it's in reality using my phone, or just pretend. he's at a diocesan meeting this afternoon, followed by choir rehearsal this evening. i do miss singing with the choir. hearing them at mass every Sunday, and hearing the Schola sing for special masses, is transporting.
i'm aching to go back to Europe. to visit the ancient cathedrals and museums, and people-watch for a few hours at a little outdoor cafe, and ride a spotlessly clean train whose schedule you could depend upon to set your watch. to drink the mineral water, and delve into a hotel continental breakfast spread that rivals any charcuterie. but! my wanderlust will be appeased by upcoming trips to San Francisco and the Outer Banks. and that's the way the cookie crumbles.
i'm curled up on our living room couch, listening to the genteel pulse of the mantel clock, while Greta vroom-vrooms her wooden blocks around the floor like so many little cars, then suddenly hurtles across the room to look out the window, barefeet slapping unevenly on the hardwood. Kaiser lets out a soft warning bark as someone walks down the sidewalk outside. the comforting scent of rosemary wafts in from the kitchen, where the filling for tonight's steak and cheese pie is cooking. (it's a classic British dish, in honor of today being the Feast of St. George, and i am unashamed to say that i got the recipe from a Buzzfeed article.)
the living room is strewn with books, the pots and pans from Greta's kitchen set, and a few errant plastic Easter eggs. her Easter basket still sits on the coffee table, having become a toy in itself (put things in, take things out). "Mom-my! Mom-my!" she calls from the dining room, where she's poking her play spoon into the holes in the grate. then she starts humming to herself, an absent-minded little tune, and comes running back over to her play kitchen to put her pans on the range.
she looks up and discovers for the first time that there's a cordless phone attached to the side of the microwave. she gleefully claps the phone to her ear and exclaims, "Dada? Dada?" followed by a string of unintelligible chatter. Nick is her favourite person to call, whether it's in reality using my phone, or just pretend. he's at a diocesan meeting this afternoon, followed by choir rehearsal this evening. i do miss singing with the choir. hearing them at mass every Sunday, and hearing the Schola sing for special masses, is transporting.
i'm aching to go back to Europe. to visit the ancient cathedrals and museums, and people-watch for a few hours at a little outdoor cafe, and ride a spotlessly clean train whose schedule you could depend upon to set your watch. to drink the mineral water, and delve into a hotel continental breakfast spread that rivals any charcuterie. but! my wanderlust will be appeased by upcoming trips to San Francisco and the Outer Banks. and that's the way the cookie crumbles.
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