Thus shouted my daughter this morning, while she over-did-it with the sharpener I brought her from my way home via the art shop a few days ago, a gummy-bear KUM unit. Kids make messes. Yesterday, it was a broken glass at our local Sardigna joint from the three-year-old and a small bucket of vomit all over the front of me while in line at the post office to mail off some pencil goodies. Today, there were pencil shavings all over the living room floor at HQ, along with the aroma of coffee and cedar in the air on a fall-like day.
Life is good at HQ. Very good.
And, just because I like this passage, from Thoreau’s Journal, 13-Aug-1854:
First marked dog day; sultry and with misty clouds. For ten days or so we have had comparatively cool, fall-like weather. I remember only with a pang the past spring and summer thus far. I have not been an early riser. Society seems to have invaded and overrun me. I have drank tea and coffee and made myself cheap and vulgar. My days have been all noontides, without sacred mornings and evenings. I desire to rise early henceforth, to associate with those whose influence is elevating, to have such dreams and waking thoughts that my diet may not be indifferent to me.