rivervox

DH went in to work today after being sick and having stuff to do here. It's nice to be alone again. I can't rely on this to be normal though. I should adapt my days to the situation. A nice walk this AM along the Muddy. Sometimes it's nice to just walk out the door.

Last night we went to Hamilton for dinner. It was rushed but nice to sit outside. We've got some clarity on the reconstruction project. We decided to schedule for when it works for US. Waiting until after Violet's show and bday before we start work and move out.

Fun this AM looking at Cape houses for Thanksgiving. We're looking to be on the lower Cape, maybe even back in Brewster. And a real house. We need something nice to give us a break from this. Though at that point work might be done and we'd have been living elsewhere. I'd like to be walking distance to a beach with two baths. A real kitchen of course.

Enjoying watching Northern Exposure. They really hit their stride last night with Chris's brother and Adam. Finished one Wallender and I will try the next. Fun to see a young Hiddleston. Curious though, how many shows have the trope of old powerful men holding women as sex slaves and abusing their daughters. Is this because it really goes on and we can't stop it (Epstein and his ilk) or because it is a fantasy. It is the worst thing? And do men really think like that? Why do I wonder?

It is in October when the voice of the forest becomes the most insistent. Long summer days go by with the distraction of bird song, waves, music and laughter. As the light fades, and other sounds are hushed, you can hear what has been hidden. What has been calling. And so you must walk to meet it.

Got out early in the sun to walk Jamaica Pond. I heard a good story from Levar, Killer of Kings by Anjali Sachdeva. It has a passage on writing that really spoke to me "Sometimes, John thinks he has always known this poem, that it has underlain his life like the seeds of a field waiting for the ray of sun that will call it forth into the world...It withered in his hands like a plucked flower, and so he learned to leave it alone. To let it grow in silence, until the silence consumed it. Until the words fell asleep again, beneath his skin. Now he wonders if he will ever find them."

I also read a profile of the extraordinary Molly Burhans in the New Yorker. A dancer turned map making genius on a mission from G-d. Her description of the mapping software made me wonder if she sees the world the way I do, in glorious crow-cam 3D. It made me consider what my NYer profile would look like. Might be fun to write to get a sense of the shape of my life. To write. I would like a private place to write. Not online, but not on this hard drive that doesn't belong to me. I don't really want to write longhand in notebooks either. What is the solution? My own laptop?

We watched The Nevers last night. I enjoyed it but DH did not. I want to just move in and set up a room of my own there. Beautiful production, wonderful actors. The mention of Stoker made me ache for my beloved Penny Dreadful. The preoccupation with violence and sex work is regrettable. Sigh. I believe in Jane Espenson and Penny Red.

Today's the day for the Contract. I've been dreading it. Letting go of one trapeze, grabbing on to another.

Le weekend. Sun on me.