Red camellias --- it'd be nice to have a dress this color, no? Maybe a Camellia dress this color? Anyway, pouring rain today and much colder, so welcome back, miserable southern wintertime.
I went to bed before 8 last night and have arisen twelve hours later, a new person: sleep as figure for baptism as figure for resurrection.
Yesterday I did work all the way through the poetry manuscript I'm copy-editing. One more pass through it is warranted, I think, because I was so tired I'm sure I missed things, but amazing how much easier that is than doing developmental edits/line editing on a prose project. I enjoy both, let me hasten to add --- I'm not complaining about the prose project. But I am struck by how much more demanding that work is, and how sheerly much of it there is. Grateful every day that I set a far earlier deadline for the writer to get it to me than the MFA program had set, because I don't think I could have turned it around in the two weeks they were allowing, and done anything like a decent job.
The children should be on their way back to Rome by now, if not actually already there. I think they pass through Frankfurt en route, and I'm not sure how long the trip is total, but anyway, I HOPE it's going smoothly and that the little girly is feeling better. Her brother seems to have done a good job of shepherding her, getting her into warm places, getting food into her, etc. Shoutout to him for being the good person he is, always.
Here he channels his truest self, at the Viking Museum in Stockholm:
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| photo credit: R.E.H. Thomas |
As I might have said, he's spent the weekend periodically messaging me in raptures over Sweden, how cool it is, how nice (and tall) the people are. He also thinks it's cool that Astrid Lindgren is pictured on the money.
Here . . . bleah, it's raining and chilly and in a horrible fit of idleness, I wish I didn't have to arise from this kitchen table, dress, and take the dog out before going to Mass. I wish I could just sit here forever. I'm sure there's a fairly high circle of Hell, not pictured in Dante but maybe just downstairs from the Virtuous Pagans and Limbo, where the Idlers sit at their kitchen tables, condemned to drink coffee that's never quite hot enough (because they can't make themselves get up to replenish their cups), and unable ever to change out of their pajamas and the underwear they slept in. The Hell of Just Sitting Here.
But yeah, any minute now, I'm going to get up out this chair and put my clothes on.
Aaaaaand:
Yeah, good thing I'm not doing any kind of dress challenge, right? Because I'd hate to keep wearing the same dress day after day after day.
How boring would that be?
Anyway, whatever. Here we are. I suspect that this is going to wind up being one of those this was nice once outfits, but I'm wearing it. Once. And I'm warm and comfortable, which was really what I was going for on a cold, wet day. The coverage of a long dress feels good. Willow, for all her considerable virtues, is anything but long. She's not quite a tunic, but close. So here she is, playing a tunic on tv today, over my beloved Audrey maxi dress, a pair of Snag merino tights, and the equally beloved Tari boots. Cork belt I bought off Amazon in the Great January Acquisitions Rush. It's all light and flowy, but warm. I could be wearing pajamas. I hope I don't look too weird, but at least the sweet lady who sits in front of me won't think I'm the world's oldest pregnant woman today.
As always, I appreciate the Willow's fresh color and graceful, open neckline. I love the silky drape of the fabric. And I'm grateful for the heavier Audrey underneath, and the way she works as a dark neutral skirt.
Time to shrug on my big coat, buckle up my leash belt, and take the dog for her morning constitutional. Then to Mass.
LATER:
Home, fed, sitting by the fire while the rain mizzles down outside. Trying to write "bob-and-wheel" stanzas: the stanzas of Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.
Took off my belt and find that I actually like Willow as a loose tunic over Audrey, even though the sweet lady in the pew would undoubtedly have congratulated me (again) on my expected bundle of joy. No, sorry, that's just my 58-year-old gut, ma'am, but thank you.
I remember telling myself, when I wore swing dresses over maxi skirts, that I was never ever ever doing that again, because it looked weird. But . . . I dunno. I don't think this looks that weird. Am I wrong? Maybe it's the shape of the dress underneath, or the fact that it's a dark, plain neutral, that makes a difference. But I actually don't mind this, and don't feel that eccentric-looking. BUT I might very well look back at these photos and say, WHAT was I thinking?