He's reading Mortal Code. I have just finished an article in The New Yorker on the Mexican election and am starting one on a book about Leonard Bernstein by his daughter Jamie. When we discover writing we like, we read it to each other.
Sherlock decides to join us bringing Thé Noir, a toy he's had from his first day with us. For the first time, yesterday, I had to do surgery on the tail to prevent stuffing loss.
So far it has been a wonderful day.
Sherlock and I took a 40 minute walk before the sun became too hot.
Rick outdid himself with the breakfast he made for Llara and I: melon, potato cakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, brioche and cranberry juice.
We talk about our childhood Christmases.
She goes back to The Nest with plans to do needlework and watch three Barnabys in German. I plan to polish the couch, read and write. Rick needs to write. Having my daughter pop in and out or meeting for coffee or an apèro, is a gift. Yes, we message regularly when she's stateside, but now she's in hugging distance. That my husband and daughter like each other, find each other's company easy, is another gift.
On the bed, Rick and Sherlock wrestle with Thé Noir until Sherlock decides enough is enough.
I get up to debone the leftover chicken. Rick has asked for biscuits, chicken and gravy for Sunday dinner, which will be late because of our late breakfast. I've found a recipe for baking powder biscuits. Llara has decided to stay ensconced in The Nest. Maybe later we'll watch another episode of The Americans (or not). We might check out the Sunday shows (or not). Most likely there will be more reading, writing and playing with the dog.
Such a simple day. Such a lovely day.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment