But why would we ever want to leave? This house is all porches and windows and heated hardwood floors, perched on the top of a windswept hill, with whitecaps on the blue sound below and a large pond above. This land is a terminal moraine, dotted with boulders and rocky outcroppings. An ancient glacier pushed its way across the continent, and ended its journey here. The house somehow captures all of this loveliness like a huge terrarium.
Anyway, we can't leave yet, for complicated reasons involving auto insurance and passing inspection and Massachusetts and old car headlights. The new headlight is supposed to arrive at the auto shop Tuesday or Wednesday, so we have to wait till then, but we MUST leave by Wednesday night, because I have another appointment with the doc on Thursday morning.
My leg is less ugly, perhaps because I've been paying more positive attention to it. You know, bathing it, shaving it, moisturizing it. Letting it out into the air and the sunshine. It's still nasty and weird-looking, but at least it's mine again. Today it isn't hurting much. It's easier to love when it doesn't hurt.
I am hoping that my leg will be ready to go back to school on March 2nd, but I'm not sure. I don't think I'll be able to walk on it yet, which means crutches, which means no subway, which means husband drives me to work, which is far away, which he can't do if he's working. But, so far, he doesn't have work lined up. So maybe I will make it to school a few days a week. On Feb. 17th, the doc said I could walk on it in 3 to 4 weeks. So that's like more the second week in March instead of the first week.
I'll be back soon, at any rate. I can't wait.
Despite intermittent pain and an annoyingly heavy leg thingamajiggy, it has been pleasant being here for the past week. We have completed one puzzle (The Rug Merchants) and are at work on a second (The Oyster Gatherers), a painting by Singer Sargent that is mostly composed of blobs of various shades of gray. It's tough. So far we've been at it 4 days. The Rug Merchants only took two.
I have read a torridly enjoyable romance novel called The Prince of Midnight (mysterious and sexy highway man encounters damsel in distress; romance ensues; there is a lot of horseback riding and swordplay, soft-porn love scenes, witty repartee, and cross-dressing). RL 7th.
I also read Home, by Marilynn Robinson. Writerly, moving, a little boring. Good enough to make me want to write. Unfortunately, I started writing a new story on the same day I started reading The Prince of Midnight, so I fear for the quality of my prose. Home is about a middle-aged spinster who returns to her family home to care for her dying father. Her wayward brother comes home at the same time, and they have to reconcile their relationships before old dad kicks the bucket. Robinson is one of the only writers I read who writes about Christianity. Her views are inoffensive and humane, and she treats her characters tenderly but unsentimentally. RL PHS.
My latest book is called Wild Swans, Three Daughters of China, by Jung Chang. It's nonfiction and so far it's pretty good. I will let you know how that goes.
Back to The Oyster Gatherers.
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