Long day, good day. Steadily productive at work. Came home to all kinds of crazy-good food. Hemmed Beloved’s white trousers and am hoping I guessed right at the length. We pin-basted while he stood on a stool. Then I pin-basted some more, and he tried them back on, and we decided they needed to be a little longer. So I moved the pins, and then I hand-hemmed the pants, and if they’re not quite right, they go to an alterations dude with more experience hemming men’s pants than I have, or want to have.
I don’t do alterations. It is a measure of how besotted I am, that I hemmed them cheerfully. How could I not, when he has steadily been turning the guest bathroom into something amazingly wonderful? I walk in there, and even with the inner door molding removed, my heart just sings.
I need to decide on a color for the molding (currently it is either dark peach, or brown), because I want to carry that color throughout the house as we repaint from room to room. And I think a rich warm cream will play nicely against the vivid colors and the possible jewel tones that will follow.
I have mentioned how fond of the snooze alarm is my beloved. He is also fond of his digital timer, which bleats annoyingly, as opposed to my happy little ladybug timer, which rings properly, long and loud and once, and then is done. We tease one another about our timer preferences. Tonight he was timing something using the ladybug. I applauded his wisdom. He retorted that he still preferred his timer as being less annoying. I commented that I was discovering a pattern: he likes to hit the snooze alarm in our room, and he likes the digital timer, which (like many microwaves) sounds periodically until it is turned off. I wondered aloud if it felt like hitting the snooze alarm while cooking, and if the ultimate test of doneness was either a charred lump or the obbligato of a smoke alarm?
He harrumphed that he’s never scorched dinner in his life (I will have to ask his boys about that). I knew better than to claim the same.
I need another day between now and tomorrow morning. I suspect I will not get it. And I suspect that tomorrow will be a Cherry Coke day, as it is nearly 11:00 with no sign of our going to bed anytime soon. No idea what I want to wear to work tomorrow, and I have yet to put my temple bag by the front door. My hands want to knit, my brain wants to write, and my eyes want to call it a day.
I wonder what causes eyeballs and eyelids to ache when one has had enough? All I know is that I love the sensation of melting sideways into the mattress, easing into my nighttime breathing, and feeling the world spin away from inside my eyelids.
“Captain America” is almost over, out in the living room. Beloved has Really Good Speakers. I think a tank just ran over my right foot...
- Five 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!