I’m just working, it’s who I am right now. It’s exciting, and it’s deep, but it’s all I’m doing, and time sort of flows around sleep, and work, and there are boys and plumbers and Bill and cats that flow around me physically.
We went out with the boys on New Year’s Eve, French, and they looked very tall and handsome in vintage jackets, joined at the IPod if not the hip.
The plumbing job of the week was elegantly, beautifully done, with little mess (amazing) and now we have nice clean new pipes and great gaping holes in the wall and at some point someone will come and make them smooth white walls, and someone else will come and put the tile floor back in the bath… I guess by the time I’m back later this month, it will all be done. This is not objectionable, that I will miss half of it.
Tonight or tomorrow, depending on the Small God Of Standby Seats (Lee Moyer will likely draw this soon) I fly home to the warmth of the desert. It was 3F when I woke up this morning here. And right now in Tucson it’s 70F. Rather a contrast. I need the lumens, my photo tent, a quiet room, a quiet head. Although it’s been lovely to be here, from a human perspective, and the cold is novel and the snow is sparkly.
Soon a bottle of great wine Bill made appear from nowhere and some roasted squash and peppers are going to happen, and then, more work, all of it engaging.
What more could I ask from any life?