Tuesday evening. My night at home. A friend met me here for about an hour, and then I had nothing but me, Samson, the apples, and Christine Brewer singing Strauss. (CB was on CD. The rest was live.)
Ninety minutes later, I’ve dined on a loaded baked potato and half a giant Jonagold apple, baked too. I’m satiated. I’m on my second listen to CB singing. And four pints of apples are now finished.
Long days at the office this week. The spring in my step these days comes from something else, all to be revealed in good time. (One year ago today I visited this house for the first time, which put a spring in my step. I later bought the house, then moved here.)