First 6 a.m. of a new season. A slate sky, etched with bare branches, jutting chimneys, a jumble of roofs.
Yesterday was a bright, balmy, spring-is-coming day. Close to the house, where the snow has melted away, I found a hyacinth in bud; I uncovered peony shoots. Even though today's forecast is for sleet, rain, snow, the week promises a stretch of sunshine and mild air. I think we're crossing into new territory.
Tom and I had a good Saturday. He bought boards for the kitchen trim, and then we drove out to the Eastern Prom and walked along the bay into town. We stopped for a cup of coffee, we bought croissants to eat on our walk, we went to the fish market. Then we drove home and Tom went to work on his trim project and I went to work on my sewing project. I made chicken stock for the freezer. Tom played Rolling Stone records. We ate seafood salad for dinner and watched Chinatown for the thousandth time. It was a companionable day.
Today will likely be more of the same. I can't do much housework or concentrate on deskwork when the kitchen is a construction zone, and the weather will be nasty. So I'll sew and play with the cat; we'll listen to music and talk about this and that in the interstices between the hammering and the sawing. It will be boring and friendly, and we will both enjoy ourselves.
A long marriage is a strange thing, don't you think? So predictable. So refreshing. So disappointing. So surprising. So happy. So aggravating. So comfortable. So itchy. Who knew?