Cups of tea. Toast sliced from the last of four loaves I made 10 days (two weeks?) ago. I've had to cover the windows from the morning sun, it is so bright and hot through the glass. It will be a warm spring day, may get up to 60F. But the clouds are turning back toward us again from the east, I see. I'm learning to count on nothing.
Cats are all outside today, and the dogs lie out in the sun gnawing on their beef bones. Greta and I have a morning ritual for the past month or so: around 9 a.m. I call out Greta do you want the greenhouse? and she comes running and I let her in there. These day it's imperative I let her back out before midafternoon or she will roast. She always leaves reluctantly, though. Because she is unrelated to the (dwindling) colony of Ruth-Piff-Ted-Leo(-Grace-Yoda-Eartha) she suffers their disdain, and Ted, who at 18 pounds I think must be packing steroids, persecutes her relentlessly. So she has the greenhouse alone during the day ("alone" is why I named her Greta, although Garbo might have been more fun), and she alone of the cats may stay in my room at night; she's respectful of my sleep. I started shutting out the others when Ted started dive-bombing me at 3 a.m. Leo's too restless, Piff too nervous. Ruth is quiet, though, and occasionally makes the A list, when she and Greta aren't hissing at one another.
I sold heavy books yesterday--the three-volume Bailey's Cyclopedia of Horticulture (1944; 14 pounds; oh! the engravings!)--and have had an inquiry about Gerard's Herbal, which is 6 inches thick and weighs 10 pounds. Oy, what I pay out in shipping. I tried to ship a book to East Sussex, UK, yesterday--I'm only willing to do so for very lightweight articles--and was told it would cost $24. So I didn't. But I will try again today. The last time I shipped anything in the same size box it cost I think $11 airmail, and economy rate would have been even less. It all depends on the clerk, I've learned, and their understanding of the overseas pricing charts.
I'm working my way through the detritus of my existence, getting organized, jettisoning the crappola. Much crappola. The first floor of the house here is now spare, zen-like (all right--by comparison). This leaves the two attic spaces. Still bulging. Shall I keep the collection of ancient kids' books and games I saved over the past 25 years for my someday grandkids? They're fun for me, as well. And there will be children wherever I live, I'm pretty sure. Discarding those particular dreams is most difficult.
Bothersome head song of the week: I watched the film Topsy Turvy over the weekend--Gilbert & Sullivan--and can't get the verse "Let us fly to a far-off land where peace and plenty dwell" out of my mind. (And the chorus chiming behind, "Too late, too late.") It lulls me to sleep, greets me on waking. Yes, always appropriate.
12:02:59 PM 
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