It’s been one of those days (and weekends) that you wished would never end. Plenty still to do, but plenty got done. Today’s car trip up to Pt. Reyes reminded me of how breath-taking Northern California can be. Cooking dinner tonight and the week’s-worth of lunches showed me just how tasty it is too.

I know it’s an end-of-the-night, last-minute, lazy post thing to do, but I haven’t set aside the time to type up deep thoughts.

That said, today we got the house in (a bit more) order: piles cleared, surfaces dusted, plants watered and topped off with soil, rug vacuumed dogs bathed, sheets washed and bed freshly made, last fall’s Iceland images off the camera, and my first scamper in a week. Progress.

Decibelle and I are looking forward to the three-day weekend.

…of typing something. Most often, nothing.

Last night I stayed up past midnight, ironing dress shirts, both mine and his. It feels productive, useful and has a beginning and an end.

This morning I listened to this live version of a The xx’s song three or four times in a row (the first one). I may have posted it last year when it came out. I want to take a bath in the trembling desire it contains.

(from NPR’s Tiny Desk Concerts)

Wish I had a third point to make. (Pardon the non sequitur nature of this.) This will have to suffice: I’ve entertained the idea of road-tripping it up to Madrona in Tacoma this weekend. Probably won’t, but it’s might have been a kooky adventure.

No, I didn’t forget to post. I just did it earlier today (well, yesterday as it’s past midnight) elsewhere. If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.

Read my nattering on over at my job’s blog here.

Weekend is over.

With all of my thinking and listening to Dar Williams over the past few days, I wanted to share one of my favorites. This live recording of her song “February” gives you a snippet of her charming patter between songs.

When I first heard this song, I loved it for the storytelling, never imagining its ache would one day echo mine. (Ah, hindsight, and foolish youth.) Not a traditional love song, not a break-up song despite it being the subject, just a love-lost song with simple, painful metaphors that hit me like a truck. This is one of the reasons I earned my nickname at her shows of Sobbing Queer Boy.

Even if you aren’t in the Northeast and digging out of the snowstorm, here’s to warmth and surviving the longest-shortest, darkest and coldest month called February. Spring will come.

(edited to add the video of the song “February“)

No post yesterday, as I was doing this last night—celebrating a smarty pants, neato knitter, mighty huntress, rigid coach, flexible athlete, hungry eater and close friend.

Another night bites the dust. And I have nothing to show for it. I noticed that I was really in the mood to work on my knitting tonight. Then I fell asleep before heading up to bed. So much for reading before hitting the hay. Whine, whine, whine.

Alas, I should have written tonight about shooting a scene for the Bike Snob video this morning, may even posting one of his previous book trailers, but there’s no time or desire to make that happen. When it’s done I’ll make sure to post it. Suffice to say, I haven’t worn that much spandex in a long, long time. Pretending to be a roadie was plain silly, knowing how often I ride more than two miles at a given time. I’m much more of an urban cyclist these days. A casual commuter. Where’s my Public Bikes bike?