Ecstatic Orange

I happily crawled into bed at seven-thirty with my copy of HOME COOKING by Laurie Colwin. I woke alert at three forty five AM, glad to have the cold dark and quiet. The crescent moon was on her back and Venus was beside her. I made coffee took Lily out to pee in the yard and then I fed her breakfast and fed Sammy cat too and I ran back up to my office.

I love knowing the coffee is brewing by itself and the wash is swishing itself clean, and the sourdough is incubating while I am poking around with words. It feels like progress at the very least an attempt multitasking. At 4AM my husband is up at his desk correcting papers, then showering, while I am making the army of toast, filling containers of sunflower seeds and dried fruits and fresh fruits in preparation for his school day. Today he's dressed up for Spirit Week as Santa Clause with a blue and white seersucker striped suit jacket and his free Christmas Narragansett beer tie that is luckily red and green and only printed with "Hello Neighbor" as the pattern.

Later I have black coffee and a hermit and an omelet with spinach Provolone and leftover tomato sauce on toast and my home made pumpkin pie for dessert. It's 7AM.

I have a great old sewing machine and lots of fabric I have collected over the years. I think I should become my own costume designer although I have great luck finding Lucille Ball style dresses at Salvation Army and yard sales.

I have always loved "bad" weather--occasionally I write letters to public radio to please ask their announcers not describe gray or rainy weather as "dismal." Sometimes sunshine is dismal especially when it's relentless like a smile that is actually a grimace.

We are up at this crazy hour of 3:45 I am happy about it but I tuck in at 7PM.
Our next door neighbor goes to work at five thirty AM, which used to seem early. We have neighborhood jet lag. The best part of early is eating supper at five PM just like when I was 6 years old.

I sure hope Elizabeth Warren wins and Barack Obama too. Seems so simple to me. Maybe I should start watching sports. Sports makes me crazy. Politics makes me crazy! I don't need more crazy.

The best part of the parade was watching 15 year old Adrianna be the dancing wiener. She rang my bell the week before asking if she could parade with us. I got a good feeling and admired her courage. So I said sure! You can play an instrument or wave or be a dancing hot dog just wear red and black. On parade day we had an extra wiener costume. She put it on and was the happiest girl alive. I recognized her love of dancing and she was cart - wheeling and greeting the onlookers, kissing babies. I spent my childhood dancing in my bed room - shy but outgoing on the dance floor just like my step-father when he was as a kid. To this day I love to break-in a dance floor. It's physical courage, not social courage. Socially I look for reasons to decline party invitations. I loathe parties and I am allergic to wine and I have no patience for serial drinkers. I do love dinner parties where I can bake and cook and bring big round loaves - but they don't exist anymore. I love tea and coffee and my round table in the sun with my cat and dog. I am lucky, Bill loves my baking and cooking. Recently I went to a friends Museum art show and pulled two grapefruit sized loaves from my chest announcing that they were Mae West's Breasts. She loved it! I probably need to do crazy things to avoid the agony of social situations. My dog is my social medium on most days. She is the magnet and the beauty and perfect excuse to chat yet keep moving.

The main street chalk maples leaves are ecstatic orange, matching my mood.