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Said the seagull wheeling overhead that I ought to be sleeping in a featherbed
My schedule is hopelessly off kilter. These last few days I have gotten up very early and been nearly passing out by noon; last night I slept from about four in the morning until a quarter of two in the afternoon, which was objectively more sleep than I've had in weeks put together, and it still leaves me feeling as glazed and vacant as if I'd stayed awake all night. Autolycus curled up in a sort of mid-blanket hammock between me and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
derspatchel. Hestia reads under his knees until we turn the light out and then she resettles herself at my feet, where I always find her in the morning like a birthday present of yawning rose-tongued black fur. I am reading Howard Jacobson's Shylock Is My Name (2016) and assorted books of poetry that are no longer in storage.
The moving and unpacking of books is a continuing process, but as of last night I have a glass-fronted cabinet for putting fragile things in. It came from Maria's parents; her mother picked it up on the Cape in the '70's and it's at least a hundred years old. It locks with a very antique key. We have put the tool chest in the bottom cabinet for weight, tablecloths and napkins in the drawer, the plates on the bottom shelf because the unvarying small size of the kitchen cabinets meant we'd been storing them awkwardly over the sink. The really important thing is the upper shelves, which now hold the wooden catwings fromnineweaving, the green glass fishing float that used to hang in my window in New Haven, and the seventeenth-century ocean-green glass onion bottle that is one of the most precious things I own. I discovered it in 2006 in the window of the China Sea Marine Trading Company when they were still on Fore Street in Portland; it came from the mouth of a Caribbean river in the last quarter of the 1600's and it wasn't for sale, but I must have looked at it with a great sea-hunger in my eyes, because about two weeks later I got a call from the proprietors who had changed their minds and carefully extricated it from the window display that looked like someone had dumped out Davy Jones' locker and I drove up with a friend and met a sixty-year-old scarlet macaw named Singapore and brought the bottle home to Boston wrapped in a strawberry-pink J.C. Penney bag and a lot of newspaper. It became a central piece of my story "The Salt House" (Sirenia Digest #22, 2007). For the last year it has languished in a cardboard box and layers on layers of bubble wrap. Now it has a home and I can see it daily and I will surround it with other treasures and talismans, because there are many. We relocated the Banner of the Cat to the wall between the front door and the first bookcase. Next up for furniture, a couch.
This is a worse picture of the cabinet, but a better one of its contents:
derspatchel. Hestia reads under his knees until we turn the light out and then she resettles herself at my feet, where I always find her in the morning like a birthday present of yawning rose-tongued black fur. I am reading Howard Jacobson's Shylock Is My Name (2016) and assorted books of poetry that are no longer in storage.The moving and unpacking of books is a continuing process, but as of last night I have a glass-fronted cabinet for putting fragile things in. It came from Maria's parents; her mother picked it up on the Cape in the '70's and it's at least a hundred years old. It locks with a very antique key. We have put the tool chest in the bottom cabinet for weight, tablecloths and napkins in the drawer, the plates on the bottom shelf because the unvarying small size of the kitchen cabinets meant we'd been storing them awkwardly over the sink. The really important thing is the upper shelves, which now hold the wooden catwings from
nineweaving, the green glass fishing float that used to hang in my window in New Haven, and the seventeenth-century ocean-green glass onion bottle that is one of the most precious things I own. I discovered it in 2006 in the window of the China Sea Marine Trading Company when they were still on Fore Street in Portland; it came from the mouth of a Caribbean river in the last quarter of the 1600's and it wasn't for sale, but I must have looked at it with a great sea-hunger in my eyes, because about two weeks later I got a call from the proprietors who had changed their minds and carefully extricated it from the window display that looked like someone had dumped out Davy Jones' locker and I drove up with a friend and met a sixty-year-old scarlet macaw named Singapore and brought the bottle home to Boston wrapped in a strawberry-pink J.C. Penney bag and a lot of newspaper. It became a central piece of my story "The Salt House" (Sirenia Digest #22, 2007). For the last year it has languished in a cardboard box and layers on layers of bubble wrap. Now it has a home and I can see it daily and I will surround it with other treasures and talismans, because there are many. We relocated the Banner of the Cat to the wall between the front door and the first bookcase. Next up for furniture, a couch.
This is a worse picture of the cabinet, but a better one of its contents:
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Thank you. I will tell my cats to tune in and get right on it.
*hugs*
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The cabinet reminds me of ones I grew up around, though those were perhaps more heavily Victorian. I love the story of the bottle.
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I usually enjoy unpacking books, so if my help would be, err, helpful, let me knwo.
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Sunday! Saturday I have no idea what I'm doing, unless writing a lot, which would be nice.
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Thank you. The issue right now is less unpacking than moving more boxes into this apartment so that I will have them to unpack. If you and your car would be willing to help with this process at some point in the future, that would be wonderful.
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"I don't know, but I'm cute!"
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Nine
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Thank you!
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Thank you!
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Thank you! I am really glad to have somewhere that suits it.