Oh, the glory of it all was lost on me
It’s a beautiful, sunny Saturday and I’m relieved to say that my DP’s surgery went swimmingly. She is convalescing in the hospital. Praise be to God!
I’ve been alone all week while the DH is off in London struggling with his mathematical treatises at the National Archives. I’m using the quiet time to meet a looming writing deadline and to deep clean parts of the house, including the pantry closet:
As you can see, it needs some help! I wish I had an after picture to show you, but I just got started last night, so it’s still a shambles. Wish me luck.
In less disruptive decorating news, I framed a poster from my brother’s 1970s band and put it up in our mudroom:
Here’s a close-up.
The poster wears its history pretty well, wrinkles and all (I wish I could say the same). It traveled with me from dorm room to dorm room throughout college, and has somehow survived every move since then. I found it in a pile of papers (where else?) and finally did right by it. I think it looks just great, don’t you?
Here is the Prize Your Liberty String Band in person: Clawhammer Tom on the left and the Ozark Whippoorwill, our brother, on the right.
Long ago and far away.
Well, I’d better get to work on that closet. It’s going to be a dusty, spider-filled job and I need to start before my courage evaporates.
The title of today’s post comes from the National’s sad new song (the video, which stars Alicia Vikander, is part of an arty short film). Give it a listen.