sweet, sleepy saturday

It is a perfect Saturday. This morning the forecast said rain, but that didn’t happen. It’s gorgeous and windy outside, the kind of day that looks warm from the cozy inside of your house, with the sun creating lovely mirrored reflections on the hoods of cars parked out on the street. There is a muffled buzz created by the lawn manicurist a few doors down, edging the yard of the house with the lime green door that is for sale by owner. He has been out there all day, but I don’t think that sounds terrible on a day like this.

Here, inside, it is quiet but for these sounds: the tick-tock of the grandfather clock that hangs on the wall in the living room, the wind moving the great, heavy branches of the pine tree in the front yard that looks a lot like the Christmas Tree in Who-Ville—the one the Grinch takes down. There is also the sound of wind chimes from my neighbor’s front porch, a sound that I love and I imagine the quiet neighbor also loves, although I rarely see him. There is now the sound of my fingers clicking the white keys of this laptop. It is gloriously quiet, and yet there is this soft symphony of sounds.

I’ve painted my nails, and am reading a book called I Don’t Know How She Does It by Allison Pearson. Two days ago I picked up The Story Of Edgar Sawtelle from Ed McKay’s, the used book store, which was strangely placed on the Free Books shelf. When I asked why, the clerk said it was because they don’t keep hardback copies of books published more than 2 years ago. This book is in mint condition, except for the big black X slashed in sharpee on the paper jacket (which is a kind of sickening, tragic practice in my opinion—give the book away, fine, but don’t slash the hell out of it). This is a book I have had great intentions of reading because it is so highly acclaimed as a work of great and epic fiction, so I opened it nobly. However, I just finished re-reading my favorite book, Steinbeck’s East of Eden, which is, again in my opinion, the greatest novel ever written, but which is also very deep, heavy, and powerful. And long. I realized that I wanted some easy-to-digest, enjoyable literature that made me laugh. So I dropped Edgar in the clean laundry basket, and picked up Person’s novel. I’m loving it, and it’s in the same style as my current project, Roma Roma. Great inspiration, great camaraderie.

Usually I can’t enjoy a day like this—it’s like I’ve got a motor that doesn’t turn off, only idles. But lately I’ve been on the go a lot. Today it feels good to sit here in my little brick house with my big dog and napping husband and read under the windows.