No more dallying abed of weekday mornings. I've made myself a very attractive writing room in the front room downstairs and I mean to use it. I spent Sunday relocating furniture, slowly and with great deliberateness and much resting. I now have a very appealing space that cries out for a working writer to occupy it. Cries out for occupation. As do I. Anyway this room is where I want to be now that the weather is warmer.
Yesterday I made a stew from the last of three hunks of emu thigh I found in the freezer when I moved here. Emu meat is very dark, fatless, and borderline edible. I learned yesterday on this third attempt that the secret is to cut it fine and then saute it first in olive oil with very large amounts of onion, garlic, and black pepper. The stew turned out very well indeed and tonight I'll make some spicy corn bread to go with it.
The great clouds have moved on--again. The frayed bits that remain drift about forlornly like abandoned animals and finally break apart and melt like shreds of spun sugar.
I've dragged out an enormous Royal typewriter the landlord left in the place when he cleared out last year. Turns out it works fine but it's stiff with dirt of the ages. I'll get out my can of 3-in-1 oil and my clean-your-own-typewriter instructions and whip it into shape.
I burned a very large slice from my giant bread loaves in the toaster this morning through inattention. It stuck in the slot and the bedroom quickly filled with smoke. Greta fled. When I pulled back the window curtain the smoke curled and flowed like milky water out into the bright air.
It's a beautiful morning. Songful birds in the willows and clear water moving nearby. Be well.
10:29:32 AM 
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