Cripples At Baseball
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Yesterday's dinner was dead good. We had my Dad and Stepmother (not evil) over. We ate and drank wine and talked story.
It was fine.
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Today we are both dragging ass. The cops came to the door in the middle of the night. We've had a lot of the in the past four years, so we were steeled for more bad news, but it was the wrong house or some shit, I don't know.
After that we couldn't sleep. We watched The Life Aquatic again. Tried to get our heart rates down.
So today has been lounging about, a walk on the cliffs, lots of coffee and internet and scrambled eggs and bacon and leftover potatoes and french bread and she's working on a new quilt and I did a little bit of...well, call it art for lack of a better word. I don't know what it is, but it makes me happy. I get a charge out of working with these images. That photoshop makes up for my inability to draw and paint. I get to make art anyway.
So there.
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I love that we can have a whole day to lounge about, lick our wounds, eat, sulk, snuggle. Take insanely hot showers and ice-cold showers and drink coffee and watch crap and read good books and keep each other in sight, in a casual way, like it doesn't matter all that much.
But it does.
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Hope you are living it real. I know you are.
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posted by tearful dishwasher at 1:21 PM
5 Comments:
Keeping each other in sight, that's it isn't it. Like a pair of horses.
Blessed ordinary life. I'm hoping no more cops at the door at night.
Just exactly like a pair of horses!
And blessed ordinary life seems to include cops at the door at night.
Thanks for stopping by, ladies!
Ah....cops at the door at night. Been there:
"Is he alive?"
"No."
And a week later, with my sons, making French onion soup, all the windows steamed up and shed their own tears.
Love this image.
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