Domestic distractions

I was so tired last night, and so happy to get into my bed. The room was cold, the sheets were smooth, the pillows perfect. I settled into a deep, luscious sleep. And then, around 3 am, I woke with a start. I was certain I heard the sound of one of the dogs scratching at the french doors in the bedroom. I was horrified. Had I left a dog out? Had my husband? How could that have happened? I jumped up to find both dogs, curled up in their usual places. The door was locked. There was nothing there—I don’t think. I mean, if a possum or raccoon had looked in the windows (not unheard of) wouldn’t Auggie, whose bed is right there, have heard it and barked? I didn’t really fall asleep after that.

The mind is a curious place.

The dozen or so hostas I bought on sale last weekend arrived yesterday. I suppose I need to saturate myself with insect repellent and get them in the ground. But maybe not today. The ones I planted on the wall a few weeks ago are already shooting up flower stalks, so they’re happy. All the rain and lightning has been good for them. Along with the dahlias I bought some annuals at the farmers’ market too, ( I always debate: is it farmers market, or farmers’ market?) to fill in the pot where the big blue angel hosta was all summer. Gardening Soulmate, Joe transplanted that on the back hill the other day, along with some sad, spindly little guys that weren’t thriving under the evergreen tree. We have a section of the yard he calls “the nursery” where we put things to mature while we test to see whether they’re viable. It’s getting crowded. There are at least two more months for everything to grow, and where the pots are concerned, I’m not ready for chrysanthemums yet, even though they’re everywhere. September first, perhaps. But usually I wait longer. My seven million bulbs will be arriving soon, too. I’m slathering the place in jonquils and white tulips this year.

I’m ready for fall and winter, my favorite seasons. One of my favorite things to do in fall is have all the windows cleaned, top and bottom, inside and out. I don’t do it myself because I’d probably kill myself climbing, and I have some guys who’ve been coming so long, they remember our dogs from the past, and they do an amazing job. In winter, the whole house changes. The light from the windows in the summer—muted, shaded, and tinged with green—is suddenly direct and bright, first golden, then, as the leaves fall, sparkling white. It’s a change I look forward to. I specifically chose all the colors in our house to offset that green tinge in the warm seasons: buttery yellow, gold, rich brown, warm red. There are blue and green accents, but the overall effect is warm. I need warm light for my well-being. I think other people probably do, too, but may not think about it. We were at a restaurant recently, and the interior light was purple and blue. Very unwelcoming, I thought. But they have a nice patio. And good margaritas.

The library windows are open, and I can hear the squirrels chuckling to themselves on the terrace, and the bluejays hollering at each other about something. Theres a small, distant tweeteling from some other small bird far off in the woods. It may be an Eastern pewee. I have never seen one, but I hear them all the time. It’s too far to tell.

The great horned owls are making themselves heard again in the evenings. I think in the summer we go inside too early to hear them, but as the days shorten, our schedules coincide more closely. I enjoy having them nearby. I heard screech owls in Maryland when we were there. The great horns prey on other owls, so we don’t have them anymore at home.

I am distracted today by domestic things. I am in the midst of searching for a round vintage dining table to better suit the dining room in its new form. So far, I haven’t found anything in my budget (not surprising, since I am the woman who picks up tables and chairs by the roadside) and I hesitate to buy online. But I have book-related things to do, too, which actually are more important. Big stones go into the jar first, then the pebbles and the sand. It all fits better that way. But procrastination is so enticing, and sometimes even necessary (but not usually).

Happy Thursday!

These posts are about finding the beauty in daily life, even amid the craziness, uncertainty, and anxiety. Reality is not going away, but these are the only days we get, so we have to relish their small beauties while we have them. If you are a paid subscriber, please know how deeply grateful I am for your support. The kindness and enthusiasm of your comments buoy me and keep me writing, but the paid subscriptions are an extra vote of confidence I truly appreciate. These posts will always be free, however, so if all you can do is share, that is helpful, too. Whatever you decide, I’m glad you’re here.