10:08 a.m.

I am running late, because I got caught up in catching up on Catherine Jamieson’s website and am still not completely through all the entries (“notes,” she calls them, and they’re my favourite part of her site, lovely photos notwithstanding) missed while I was away. Catherine is one of those people whose writing I read with something akin to shame because I do not write like that!

(Now listen. Don’t write and tell me not to be so hard on myself. If you know me, have heard me speak, you know that my sense of humour is a bit on the dry side [I think; wouldn’t you say so Jane, Rod, Cathy, Fran?] and that in writing I can sound serious when I am being a bit flip. That said, I envy Catherine’s view of life and her turn of phrase, while completely understanding and accepting that I am what I am and there’s a place in the world for me, too.)

I have, on the other hand, got a batch of bread started, washed the dishes, and run myself a bath. So all is not lost. It’s just that I will be putting my nose to the grindstone of paying work a little later than usual today.

The photo is Emil looking into a mirror that my friend Clever made for me. I have yet to get it hung, because I haven’t decided what colour to paint the wall behind it and because it takes me forever to get around to jobs like that, which seem large and daunting and overwhelming to me.

There is a bit of yellow in the glass bits, and I am partial to yellow while not fond of flesh tones. And Scott’s heels are firmly dug in against anything but the existing white! I have been advised to paint it while he is away, which is excellent advice if it is the prospect of change that makes him stubborn, as opposed to a real esthetic preference for bland brightness.

Now, off to the tub.