Sated Sunday

Hi Dear Folk,

Hurricane Mathew has blown out to see and we are just receiving rain and wind gusts.  Everything is greening up again after almost a month of no rain.  Autumn is in the air creeping into the house and I feel the need to wrap my hands around mugs of hot chocolate and see flames dance.  The house is damp and chilly and I say to Mr. B. "we should light the wood fire," but he says "no there is no dry wood," and I say why not?  Then drop the whole subject because it is easier to do so, and say well we will need to bring some wood into the basement and start drying it off for the winter.  So here I am in the Simla room with my instant gratification gas stove, and I am sated with a need to watch flames and feel cozy and warm.

A box marked fragile came this week all the way from Echo Canyon Road, Yellowstone.  Mr. B. phoned me at work and said had I ordered anything, but as soon as he told me the sender address I knew who it was from.  Even the name Echo Canyon sounds so out West, and my mind darts back to images of a black and white screen with cowboys and indians dancing across.

Thank you Candyce.  Thoughts of wood fires and my hands wrapped around this mug full of coffee, hot chocolate or soup have been running through my mind all week.

An envelope from funky pigeon was in the mail, this was a little harder, what is funky pigeon?

This is funkypigeon, thank you Jean we love this card, so special.

I think of Rob who has been working on his Miata all weekend, new timing belt and other things, which when all added up might have been cheaper to just had the timing belt done at a shop, but he says no because he is doing so much more and it is the accomplishment of working on his own car.

He is working on it in a friends driveway with a canopy over them, and I think has he secured it down properly with these gusts of wind, and how is he making out, and will the car actually run when he is finished, put aside such foolish questionings of a mother, as my sister said on the phone this morning, "just let him get on with it" and yes that is what I'm doing.  Mr. B. says this weather reminds him of days when he was younger than Rob and worked on his car, rolling up mats to catch the rain rolling down the driveway, so he was not laying in a pool of water under the car.

I have almost finished 'Names for the Sea' and I don't want it to end because I want to continue wandering around Iceland, peeking into a different way of life, looking at scenery which I can only imagine from visits to the Scottish Isles.  Thinking of scavenging round the thrift shops for travel books on Iceland and wondering if a trip is feasible.

Should I look on You Tube and try and learn the Icelandic way of knitting, instead of the British, since I need to relearn in any-case.  I ask this question of my sister the absolute guru on knitting and she says she prefers the British way as the use of ones fingers in the knitting pulls it tighter and she prefers a looser knit, but did I remember Sylvia? Sylvia an older friend who knitted with needles and fingers.  Sylvia who had lived in India and wore a sari and taught me how to type, who lived in a new seventies house with big plate glass windows and a big brass Indian tray coffee table that sat on carved wooden inlaid legs.  Yes I remember that Sylvia.  So now I have a dilemma.  Since I think in crochet the American way I don't think it would be treason to knit the Icelandic way if I so desire.

I have found the new Persephone release at the library Madame Solario, by Gladys Huntington, an original edition I think, unfortunately it is not in my hands as Mr. B. forgot to go and pick it up for me.  He said if I'd off stressed the importance of the holiday weekend and the library closing early on Saturdays, he would have done so, never mind.  Tomorrow is Columbus Day and my office is closed, but just maybe the library is open as not so many places close for this holiday, and I can pick my book up.

Every Sunday Mr.B. makes me poached egg on toast, also toast and marmalade accompanied by coffee, my treat after a week of work, he's a keeper.  Mr. B. will have eggs and bacon, I can smell it now wafting by.   I'm going to debut my new mug.

Tomorrow is our anniversary, thirty-five years, it's flown by like a drop in the bucket of time.  How many drops does one get to a life time, more than two and not three.  The Boy said he would treat us to dinner, but we are still undecided as to where we want to go.  He had mentioned the Dandelion in Philadelphia, which has leanings towards an English Pub, but I said we would be just as happy with something nearer home and not have to worry about parking, and less expensive, are we just getting old?   I think the sun does promise to come out tomorrow.

Have a wonderful weekend and I have one more day yippee!

Christy