I forgot to bring the first season of Weeds, as it turns out, and also yogurt, of which there is a-plenty at home. As far as cooking goes, I am working in the "nuns fret not in their convents' narrow rooms" mode, as in, I am cooking with what I have, with tasty results.
Also, I forgot to bring this one shirt.
As it turns out, it was good to plan feverishly and it was good to execute that feverish plan, or execute it for the most part. But now that we're up here, none of it seems to matter. I would like to have those things I didn't remember to bring, but it is so beautiful. So peaceful. So calm and quiet that the need for those things is pretty much abolished.
We have had no big adventures whatsoever:
- the historian has taken a couple of bike rides,
- we walked to the store to pick up a paper so I could do the crossword and we could keep up on sporting news,
- I have revised a poem and done an overview of my manuscript,
- we've both read copiously in various kinds of reading matter,
- we've slept and eaten, and
- I'm making a little movie at the moment.
But the real thing is, we're relaxed and undistracted. We're distraught over practically nothing. I am indulging myself in the dream of what it would be like to live here, a pleasant dream that is undiminished by the fact that it won't ever happen.