I just stayed in yesterday--the boys went golfing, which always turns out to be so luxuriously, gloriously, gorgeously relaxing for me because I have the house all to myself for a few hours. I donned jammies at 3 p.m., took a two-and-a-half hour nap, watched Martian Boy (John Cusack), and then finished reading Cormac McCarthy's novel The Road. I tried many times to stop reading the latter because of its inherent desperation, but I always had a wish that it would turn around somehow and reveal a little hope. It finally did, on the VERY LAST PAGE. ( That's not true. There was hope interlaced, and that's what kept me returning. The "carrying of fire." The boy was the hope.) Thank you, Cormac. It's one of those books that just makes you thankful for what you have now.
The husband came home with Chinese take-out for moi, a shrimp fried rice with vegetables that was SO GOOD at ten o'clock at night in front of the television. He had also gone to the grocery store and bought stuff that I never have the heart to buy. Like BACON. ( : I secretly love bacon. But I won't actually buy it.
Crap! There was just an electrical surge at my house. Whenever this happens, when the electricity goes off and comes back on, and for some reason unknown to me, it makes the doorbell ring, which in turn causes the dogs to go completely insane with barking, and this wakes up the child. He's awake now, demanding cartoons, and I'm sure soon, he'll want "BREAKFAST!" ( :