The house I stayed in this weekend had a tree swing. It was gorgeous and steady and I swung to my heart’s content. Several times. And I felt young, alive, and amazingly clear headed. I need to remember that swinging does this for me…and do it more often.
Finished two lovely books. One by Anne Lamott (in 24 hours! I need to learn to savor!) and another my Amy Poehler. Good grief these women can write. Amy made me laugh and sigh with pleasure. Anne makes me long to be a better writer…and her friend…and have her offer me a cup of coffee or a chocolate.
This is what I call what Malcolm does when I come home and he lays down on the stairs…a few at a time…up and up and up…as I try to get from the bottom floor to the main floor of the house. He stops. I rub his belly and talk sweet to him. He moves up a stair or two. On Thursday many of you know that Malcolm and I took a scary tumble down the stairs and he hid out quite a bit. Although there was no reason, I had an underlying fear my entire weekend away that he was hurt and I hadn’t taken good care of him. Imagine my joy when I walked into the house and he went to the third stair, did the flop, and waited with his angelic little orange monkey face for me to love him. And love him I do.