It’s not all sinking pedal boats and killing rodents.
I’m back in bed on Saturday afternnon, reading a hopelessly outdated (and hysterically funny) issue of Women’s Day from July 1955, learning how to "cook" it in the refrigerator or freezer (jellied tomato-cucumber mold anyone?) and - this was the Woman's Day Workshop - how to cast a fish in plaster of Paris (I shit you not, page 66! - "Once the negative mold has been made, it can be used many times to make duplicates of the fish - fine gifts for sporting friends" 'cause everyone needs a fish cast in plaster of Paris!). I can't help but wonder if anyone actually ever did this, and more to the point, why?
Mr. Jazz is in the living room, watching the hockey game and transferring Gotan Project and the latest Porcupine Tree onto my computer so I can sync my iPod. Yay, I won’t have to do it for myself. Happy Day.
I push aside the magazine and snuggle down into bed with a sigh, finding that perfect position for a snooze. Mr. Jazz comes in, closes the curtains, kisses me and leaves, closing the door behind him.
I listen to the chipmunks rooting around in the old leaves under the feeders, and to the rain as it starts falling softly - then less so. My thoughts drift to the new hostas and ferns pushing their way out of the earth. This will be good for them.
My body grows heavy as I write this blog post in my head and sink into slumber, to the sound of the hockey game and falling rain.
Life is good.