Late-night tree and street, on yesterday's last walk with Dora. We were home from the airport with progeny in tow, so there had been all the hysterical dog greetings, the much jumping and licking, the whole demonstrative reunion thing. The kids were tired and hungry, having been dropped at the airport mid-afternoon by their sister, so my husband made them scrambled eggs while I took Dora out for a solitary dark, chilly --- and thoroughly pleasant --- stroll around the neighborhood.
We'd had a fun evening out ourselves, stopping at the Primal Brewery in Belmont (our other pub home when we aren't at Bricktree, around the corner from our house) for a little supper and beer on the way down to the airport. Then of course we were early and got to hang around people-watching in the baggage claim for a good half-hour before the plane disgorged the people we'd come to meet. I was easily the most dressed-up person in the airport ---
--- but you know, sometimes that's just what you gotta be. The Artgirl admired my tights, so maybe I'll get her some Snags for her birthday, the first Tuesday in Advent. You might recall that one of my resolutions for this fall and winter was to wear tights more, instead of defaulting to leggings, and so far I'm enjoying doing that. I have so many pairs, and they're honestly so comfortable, both the merino kind and these regular opaque tights, especially when the weather's not that cold.
So now it's Sunday morning, and I'm the first person up, drinking my coffee. I've played Wordle, Connections, Letter Boxed, and Tiles, and I've done the Sunday Mini Crossword: all the New York Times games you can play, in other words, without a subscription. Well, except for Sudoku, which I don't know how to play and haven't bothered to figure out yet. I feel that at the moment I am doing enough to stave off the onset of dementia, sharpening my brain on these little challenges. I might actually have to lose my mind before I learn to play Sudoku.
Our plan for the day: Mass, hang around, the end. I'm so happy to be finished with most of my autumn projects --- as maybe I've already said once or twice. Really, it's a huge relief. The thing about this work business is that you're not just free to do whatever, and I find that I kind of like being free to do whatever, at least in moderation. Of course, I also like money, and in truth, most of the time, I like being in the game, whatever the game really means. Largely the game seems to consist of publishing just enough that people you care about know you're out there, and then otherwise just talking to those people, because you'd care about them even if you weren't all busy being in the game.
It's been a delight, and something of a surprise, to encounter, at this late date, other writers whose company and conversation I actually enjoy . . . which maybe seems like a strange thing to say, but for so long I didn't know anybody like that. I knew other writers, but our lives and personalities and values felt so out of sync with each other that that knowing never really felt like knowing. I'd run into people at conferences and be in conversations, but feel awkward and afraid of saying a wrong or dumb thing, because that seemed so eminently possible, even probable. I've just met a lot of people in the course of my life --- not bad people, I hasten to say --- with whom I didn't feel I could safely be myself, for whatever reason. That's true of people in general, not other writers, but I felt it acutely when I was with other writers, because I did so want the kinds of connections that I read about in, say, Flannery O'Connor's letters. Where were these other writers? Where were these editors who became lifelong friends? Where were all these other good, smart literary people who believed in God and went to Mass and didn't think it was weird to do those things? I had begun to think they didn't exist.
Turns out that they do, and that for all the evils of social media, that I've been able to find this community has been a gift. So anyway, the game really just means being in the swim with people I like (not all of whom are Catholic or even Christian, but we can be safe with each other, respecting each other's art), writing and publishing things because that's part of being in the swim, part of the big give-and-take, and I love that. But man. Even given all these good things, I've realized that it's possible to say yes to too much --- and to get it done, because there is no try, and also no not-do, but to be pretty tired by the time it is done, and to realize that while the world is ever full of spring chickens, you personally are not one of them.
Anyway, Sunday morning, coffee, sunshine outside, another bonny November day, if that's not an oxymoron. It is, in truth, not an oxymoron, but simply what happens to be reality here at the moment. Today looks like being a little cooler, with a high in the mid-60sF, instead of the mid-70s, and lows in the 30s (but not below freezing). In fact, that seems to be the template for the week, more or less, with fluctuations, day to day, between the high 50s and low 60s, and colder nights. And you know, I'll take it. While I enjoy not being hot, I don't mind not being cold. The older I get, the more I appreciate the mildness of this climate. Our hot summers aren't that hot (as the Texasgirl frequently reminds me, during said summers), and our winters, while we get a little really cold weather, aren't overwhelmingly that cold. It's just not brutal, a quality I increasingly like in a climate --- not-brutal, I mean.
Time to get dressed now, for the mild autumn weather, and take the dog for a little trot about the local environs.
Wearing:
A basic look I believe I shall call The Crunching of the Greens.
In the ordinary way of things, I would not have worn this moss-green blazer with this teal-green dress. But I dunno, today it seemed like a good thing to do, so I did. And in a crunchy-chord kind of way, I think it works.
Especially with the addition of this wool scarf, redyed indigo, which has transformed it from a thing that hung around unworn in my closet to a thing I reach for all the time (I wore it out last night, too, though I didn't take a picture with it on).
Anyway, yeah, why not? Why not to all of this. Thrifted corduroy Calvin Klein blazer, Pacific Brooklyn dress, Snag tights in Slate, Kosher Casuals charcoal-gray crop top, Xero Tari boots. It's a look, and I'm ready to run with it, at least for today.
Many intentions on my mind today, not least the brother of our beloved former pastor, who is dying after living valiantly for five years with pancreatic cancer, leaving a wife and five children. If you've a mind to, please remember Mark B. in your prayers today. Also the repose of the soul of L., and AK and S as they prepare for marriage.
EVENING UPDATE:
It's been a lovely day. A good Mass at the Abbey, a late scrambled-egg brunch with the progeny, a lazy afternoon indoors and out, which included a walk with Dora and a nice talk on the phone with my mother. I'd been hanging onto a sweater I'd bought on Poshmark --- quite a nice Ann Taylor merino duster-length sweater that proved to be just too small for me --- hoping that the Artgirl might like to have it, and much to my delight, she did want it. It fits her beautifully (she is quite a tiny person), and its particular shade of pink is much better for her coloring than mine. So I'm glad I decided not to resell it.
I also bought myself one more secondhand cardigan. I have been, for the last year or so, quietly and desultorily looking for a replacement for an ancient charcoal-gray acrylic hooded cardigan that I wear in the house all the time. It hangs on the bathroom doorknob, and when I get up in the morning in the chilly house, I put it on, and I wear it until I'm ready to get actually dressed for the day. When I say ancient, I mean that the Texasgirl wore this cardigan in high school --- which is to say, sometime before the spring of 2011 --- having bought it at Goodwill. It's pilled, it's gross, but I've hung onto it because there's just not been anything quite like it. But I looked on Poshmark today, while I was marking down some things in my "closet," hoping to make some sales, and lo, there was a charcoal-gray cable-knit zip-front Aran hoodie sweater --- 100% merino --- for a quite reasonable price, so I bought it. When it comes, I am going to do something with this old sweater, I don't know what. Wash it, maybe shave the pilling off, and donate it, hoping it won't go in the landfill. I do not want it anymore. And I'm happy to have a sweater kind of like it, in actual wool, to wear in the house but also everywhere else.
Now the Artgirl out for the evening, but the Viking is home. I put a pork loin in the crockpot after Mass, with curry powder, cayenne, hot Mexican chili powder, clove, and cinnamon, plus canned peaches, because they exist for some reason, right? That reason is to adorn pork loins, cheaply and deliciously. The house smells heavenly, and in a while we're going to eat this pork loin, pulled, with melted peace slices and much spiciness, and it will be divine.
Also, my morning outfit has been comfortable all day. I took off the blazer and scarf and --- as a default move --- put on the gross old acrylic cardigan, but otherwise, I've been perfectly happy in every clothing item I assumed this morning. Tights are fine. Dress is fine. It's all fine.