Thursday already: this week has flown by. I guess the delights of a working oven have served as a kind of rosy soft-focus filter over the daily grind. [Good lord, what a terrible mixed metaphor that is, but I refuse to delete it and instead humbly lay the blade of my figurative goofiness at your feet (hah! there's another one).]
Today I've got a morning meeting about a friend's manuscript, and then the rest of the day is mine. I'll probably sketch out some potential teaching ideas, and maybe I'll also do some writing. It looks as if I'll be on editing hiatus for a few weeks (good and bad news), so I'm scrambling to pull together plans for future work. But I also want to take advantage of this opportunity to concentrate on my own doings.
For now, I'm sipping black French roast in a white cup, listening to the furnace growl, feeling restfully pleased that the week's housework is under control, idly wondering what I should take out of the freezer for dinner, and hoping the sidewalks aren't too icy for a walk later today.
Meanwhile, I have plenty of firewood in the basement, plenty of tea in the cupboard, a solid roof, hot running water, and windows with glass in them. What magnificence!