September 24, 2008

11:04 a.m.

Off

Cozy in the little upstairs room; overcast day; slightly allergic; had strange dreams of baby cockroaches and flies in my bed. They were pesky but not alarming. I managed to get some of them into a ziplock bag and when I awoke, realized they resembled the ground flax seed I've been putting in my shakes and cereal. Sheesh.

Big sigh; showered early, which I missed yesterday, made coffee and had breakfast. The rest of the day free, unscheduled, uncluttered with should. I wish I had a riveting book, but I finished it. Left with Sudoku. My nose continues to run and every now and then a sneeze. Old beds, dust mites everywhere. So much dust in England.

Home, home. I have dreams of home -- the one I have now and the one I will have. I get glimpses of the garden, the stairs, the attic. The living room is always dark, a mystery to me; I don't know why. But the flowers I'll plant, all the lilacs we'll have, those I can see. All the crocuses that will appear in early Spring. Tomatoes on the windowsill. Big comfy reading chair. Pellet stove. Slow cooker, bread baking. Family music, when I have learned the cello.

Rose reports they found a hook in the little barn loft where someone used to hang a lantern while tossing hay out the swinging door. The hook on the window casing, and the soot mark on the ceiling above it. Like a footprint from the past.

And as for my apartment -- whenever I'm away I get very enthusiastic about cleaning it when I return. Reorganization projects, painting. Scrubbing the floors. Savoring every ritual element of which I'm deprived otherwheres. Finally cleaning all the past years' plant detritus off the balcony -- carting all that used soil into a forest somewhere. Dreaming of a summer when I'm home enough to have another balcony garden.

Our agent isn't planning to have us back to England until February 2010. I wonder what state we'll even be in by that time. I find I don't care.

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I let Rose know that I'd be available for data entry duty if their office needs more hands on deck over Christmas week. They're overhauling their database/computer system that week (with much grumbling) and, if there's no way for me to have an actual job there, at least I can assist with a project like that. I'm a speedy typist and will certainly be unencumbered by gigs at that time.

Dar began rehearsals for Fiddler on the Roof yesterday. He's playing the Rabbi, a fun little part without a lot of pesky lines. He also had a reading for Playboy of the Western World yesterday to see which of two parts the director wants him for. That won't be until March. I love that he gets called for these things. He's not so much a brilliant actor as a very useful one; a great type, a wonderful personality to work with, reliable and fun. I haven't seen him stretch himself in a part for a while. But he does stretch himself in life. And he rarely has to go out for a part any more.

I just realized that his birthday is the very day we get back from England. I've got to find something wonderful for him here.