I wear my scarves this way, like Ferry tied his tie. I get little ones (the point of long tails eludes me; they are simply things in the way) and tie them into little bows at my neck. It makes me feel like a present, wrapped, and it keeps my neck warm. Even at my advanced age I had not realized until I stared at this photograph long enough to have it qualify for a drug experience that the hand-tied silk bow tie (maybe all ties, really) are like the gift wrap on men as well.
One is never too old for a bit of clarity.
The marathon was mostly uphill today, with gnats. Errands. Appointments. Evan still sick with flu. I’m emailing with about 45 people, back and forth. Proofs, mostly, but also illos and information. Information! I am still gathering information, which astounds me. How can this be? I’m tired. I am excited to report that I am going home to peaceful Tucson early Sunday morning. Equally exciting is the fact that I get Bill back in the early hours of Saturday. The Midwest has been mild, considering it’s December, but the bare trees and the pale, thin light are not helping. Nor are emoticons (emailing with 45 people, it’s gonna happen) or having to put punctuation outside of parentheses. Punctuation outside of parentheses makes me miserable. Doing it in the Midwest in pale winter hurts a little bit extra.
In addition to all of that, I feel pretty freaking great, because the pages are beautiful and people are going to say, “This is gorgeous.”
Liam is three inches taller than me now. And that is exciting enough to distract me from just about anything. I’ve now fallen to third in height on the family doorframe, about to be displaced by Evan to a measly fourth, lording it only over Bria. And that, only until I shrink with age. In truth, I can’t imagine diminishing in any way; I expect to just get more intense and springy, like Malcolm McDowell, or a Twinkie.
God help me.