This Morning This Day To Be

  

Mornings, when we don't have to go out by a certain time, are wonderful.

My dog greets my husband who is checking his emails. Rick, not Sherlock, had brought me tea as he does most mornings. This morning it's caramel flavored, but it can be any good flavor. I let it cool before the first sip. When he brings it in a special bowl, French style, I usually save some for breakfast petit dej.

As all mornings, there's so much I want to do during the day, an impossible to-do list to a who- are-you-kidding list. 

I stare at my Japanese painting on the wall and almost smell the waterfall. I look through the sheer red hearts to the patio.

I want to spend the day living with the characters in the book I'm reading. What will happen with Astrid, her mother in prison and Claire? That's what I love about reading, getting lost in other lives or learning about something I didn't know. I finish the chapter and put in the metal book mark bought at the Montreux Christmas Market last year. 

To me, special pens, notebooks and bookmarks are treasures. Especially the pens. I imagine the pen maker polishing the stone or wood and fitting the tip. I've met two of the craftsmen and one of the craftswoman who made the pens. One craftsman had photos of his workshop. With all my pens I have the memories of buying them. They will last several lifetimes. I used one this morning to make my shopping list making the writing of the list less mundane.

I wanted to write this blog, which dear reader, I'm obviously doing. I need to post yesterday's Free Writes. Julia has sent hers, Rick and I still need to do ours. It was interesting. We'd all ridden the bus that was photographed as the prompt.

I want to work on my Sugar and Spices novella. I've an idea on colors for the sketch of the wooden carousel from the Medieval Village Fete a week ago. The carved handmade leather cover still thrills me. There's also the memory of talking with the artist who proudly talked to me of his work. He spoke so proudly of both the notebook and his broken English. I want to use it to practice my calligraphy. The other notebook, I decorated with foxes is for my journal haikus and sketches.

Today is the marché almost outside the door. I need to buy things for lunch, my turn today and there's a recipe with brussel sprouts and sausage I want to try. I need to buy olives, tapenade, saucisse, chips, paté for the apéro tonight. We've invited two friends who are leaving. We only see them for a couple of weeks every few years and enjoy every minute with them. This year the man had brought two books which he wrote. I've thoroughly enjoyed them.

We may stop for tea/hot chocolate at l'Hostalet, Mille et Une or Cedric's when we find friends already there. Most likely I'll have a conversation with the man who is my late father's doppelganger, his mother and sister.

Rick went out to buy a baguette for tonight, but also a round loaf for petit dej. I'm thinking of avocado toast. Sometimes the bread is still warm from the baker's oven.

The laundry is running. Each morning there are so many diddly squat chores such as hang laundry, empty the dishwasher, make the bed. The shower, drying my hair, putting on minimal makeup, water the plants, put away this or that.  Like the writer Douglas Kennedy, who admitted he needs these things done, I do too before I sit down to write.

A morning like today I put away my book, knowing I wouldn't get back to it till tonight. I also know what I will do during the day will be mostly pleasure. Astrid, I will see you in about 12 hours.