In just ten minutes a day...
My new plan, as of this week, is to spend ten minutes a day writing something. Anything. In my journal before bed or on the back of an envelope during lunch, or wherever. Sunday night I wrote about apple picking with my brother and sister in-law and the discovery of an apple that tastes like honey (Marston's Red). Monday night I wrote about my wrinkles (which are not yet real wrinkles but very faint lines around my eyes that show wrinkle-like tendencies). Last night I continued in the laugh-line vein:
There's a guy working with me now, at least until November when he goes to Israel. His smile takes up his whole face, and his eyes and cheeks crinkle in a way that makes me think of cowboys. It's a nice smile. I like people who smile with the whole face. I like people who talk with the whole body. I guess I like people who make use of all their physical facilities. I mean, those people who smile with only the mouth and who speak with hands hanging limply a their sides--what are they saving it all for, anyway?
And then this morning:
Amazing. Third day of October and Massachusetts is going Halloween crazy. Pumpkin muffins and lattes, Jack O'Lanterns on front steps, and even Pier One is running sales on haunted house-shaped votive holders and spider web throw pillows. But then, it does feel like fall. This week has been cooler, and there are more and more leaves stuck in my windshield wipers each morning. The squirrels are out in force, squads squabbling over every last acorn and seed. There's a small maple next to a stoplight I always hit red on Center Street, and the leaves are turning brown from the outside in, the edges crisp and the middle still green, holding on to the last gasps of warm sun from the fading summer.
The other night I cooked dinner for me and the roommate (there's another roommate coming sometime this week). Monday is my night to cook for the house. Fish and rice and green beens, and it felt right and cozy in the kitchen with steam bubbling up from the stove and the scent of butter and onions.
This morning I'm sitting in a Dunkin Donuts cubbyhole on Comm Ave, between Brookline and Newton. I've eaten my egg and cheese bagel and am drinking my coffee and watching people walk in from the misty morning. It's actually warmer this morning than it has been, but the gray skies and fine-fine rain make it seem less like shirtsleeve weather, and no one's wearing sandals. Some are even wearing scarves. There's something equalizing about Dunkin Donuts up here. Something almost communist. Because in this line we have the house cleaner in seats, the construction worker in torn t-shirt and boots, the soccer mom with her flashing ring, the suited businessman, the student in cords, sneakers, and hoodie, complete with backpack and bleary eyes. It's not yet 8:30am after all. It's a nice little slice of America, this little shop.
There's a scratch down the left side of my face, cutting into my dimple. Woke up this morning and there it was, stinging as I washed my face. There's also a complimentary horizontal scratch on my collarbone, and boy, do they sting! I checked all my nails because I've been known to scratch myself with a broken nail by accident. But no, no broken nails. I just filed them the other day. So it seems I may have unknowingly gone to sleep with a puma in the bed last night.
Seriously. I'm going to go eat some applesauce.
There's a guy working with me now, at least until November when he goes to Israel. His smile takes up his whole face, and his eyes and cheeks crinkle in a way that makes me think of cowboys. It's a nice smile. I like people who smile with the whole face. I like people who talk with the whole body. I guess I like people who make use of all their physical facilities. I mean, those people who smile with only the mouth and who speak with hands hanging limply a their sides--what are they saving it all for, anyway?
And then this morning:
Amazing. Third day of October and Massachusetts is going Halloween crazy. Pumpkin muffins and lattes, Jack O'Lanterns on front steps, and even Pier One is running sales on haunted house-shaped votive holders and spider web throw pillows. But then, it does feel like fall. This week has been cooler, and there are more and more leaves stuck in my windshield wipers each morning. The squirrels are out in force, squads squabbling over every last acorn and seed. There's a small maple next to a stoplight I always hit red on Center Street, and the leaves are turning brown from the outside in, the edges crisp and the middle still green, holding on to the last gasps of warm sun from the fading summer.
The other night I cooked dinner for me and the roommate (there's another roommate coming sometime this week). Monday is my night to cook for the house. Fish and rice and green beens, and it felt right and cozy in the kitchen with steam bubbling up from the stove and the scent of butter and onions.
This morning I'm sitting in a Dunkin Donuts cubbyhole on Comm Ave, between Brookline and Newton. I've eaten my egg and cheese bagel and am drinking my coffee and watching people walk in from the misty morning. It's actually warmer this morning than it has been, but the gray skies and fine-fine rain make it seem less like shirtsleeve weather, and no one's wearing sandals. Some are even wearing scarves. There's something equalizing about Dunkin Donuts up here. Something almost communist. Because in this line we have the house cleaner in seats, the construction worker in torn t-shirt and boots, the soccer mom with her flashing ring, the suited businessman, the student in cords, sneakers, and hoodie, complete with backpack and bleary eyes. It's not yet 8:30am after all. It's a nice little slice of America, this little shop.
There's a scratch down the left side of my face, cutting into my dimple. Woke up this morning and there it was, stinging as I washed my face. There's also a complimentary horizontal scratch on my collarbone, and boy, do they sting! I checked all my nails because I've been known to scratch myself with a broken nail by accident. But no, no broken nails. I just filed them the other day. So it seems I may have unknowingly gone to sleep with a puma in the bed last night.
Seriously. I'm going to go eat some applesauce.