One of my favorite authors died earlier this week. Trainman emailed me at work.
I discovered Robert B. Parker [the Spenser novels, the Jesse Stone series, and the Sunny Randall series] by way of Orson Scott Card, who is my favorite living author. Both of them really like women. Both of them write strong, smart women and show compassion for women who are neither.
Take “Spenser”, dunk him and give him the Priesthood, and you would just about have my ideal man. Brother Sushi has a lot of Spenser in him. NintendoMan, too; when I was exploring his bookshelves after picking him up from the airport last Saturday [my first time to visit his place], I was amazed at some of his musical tastes.
Change of subject: I am sitting here in my remarkably tidy living room (note that I did not say that it was clean, pristine, or any of those other Girl Scout virtues) at a time when I would much rather be asleep. Last night's dinner dishes are stacked neatly on the coffee table. I should probably take a picture and make this part of a blog post. [This started out as an email to a friend, and as you can see, I have done so, at least in part.] I should probably also get up and start washing dishes. But I think I will slug down a glass of water, or maybe a glass of milk, and try to catch another couple hours of sleep.
Today I am picking up Fourthborn, and possibly Fiancé, to go to a doll meet in a nearby suburb. I will take Celeste (the vampie girl) and Faith (my new hoofie baby) to show them off. Doll people are interesting. In multiple senses. There are a couple of other people in the local group who are LDS. None of us are your basic 1980’s floral dress with white lace collar people. I find it highly amusing that I am probably the most normal person there. Which, some days, is not saying much, you know?
There was a little corner of Zion in my home last night. Brother Sushi and Trainman and LadyZen came over, and we cooked together and gathered around the coffee table. The Spirit was there, and the love was there, and among the four of us there was peace, and comfort, and security. That is how a home ought to feel.
I had originally planned to make lasagna, but changed the menu to breakfast-for-dinner. I had stuff; they brought more stuff, and now the inside of my fridge, already filled with the bread I picked up week before last when I took that day off to clean before hosting presidency meeting while the church building was unavailable, now resembles nothing so much as the local RS president's fridge after the Savior did His loaves-and-fishes thing, if she had had a fridge.
Pictures, soon, I hope. I think I am figuring out the most effective end-run around the current computer problems. But for now, I am going to dive back into my boudoir and thumb-wrestle with the Sandman.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!