The dry, east-wind part of winter–the Gorge is a giant wind tunnel–is the least fun for me. Everything gets desiccated: houseplants, dogs, the tender skin around the mouth. The new windows are holding up, despite a little condensation. I much prefer when the rains move in, even though everything starts to smell of moss and other less-savory things. The weekend was full of yard work, things like planting fava beans (they overwinter well here and fix nitrogen in the soil) and getting stormwrack into piles for the landscapers. I had to rake, which is normally not my favorite thing, but it’s really not so bad when someone isn’t going to take a belt to you if you don’t get every leaf.
Dawn is coming up as I write this, the children mostly ready for school, Odd Trundles snoring on the dogbed. Miss B, who would normally nose him off the bed or take the lion’s share of it for herself, is instead supervising the making of school lunches, hoping to be paid with a dab of peanut butter for her efforts. There is very little she won’t do for peanut butter or Cheetos.
The cedars outside my office window have stopped tossing. I pause and stare at them for a while, usually while getting the next string-sentence together in my head. Today I start on the sample chapters for the second Agent Zero book, and there’s word count on Rattlesnake Wind and the second Gallow book to catch up with. Plus, bread to make–the Little Prince requested “Mombread,” which is what he calls my 50% poolish loaves. He likes it toasted, with butter and a fried egg, in the mornings. I should also get up on the roof and deal with the storm debris there, always one of my favorite things.
All in all, it’s a Monday. I’d better stop staring out the window and get started on the rest of the day.
Over and out.