It’s amazing how little it takes to make me feel domestic. I came home in the late afternoon daylight and helped Lisa weed the bed beside the driveway.
(The beds are all a complete disaster, incidentally. We have paths around all the garden beds, from the garden to the back patio, and from the garden to the garage door, and all the way down to the street covered in bark. Thinly covered, now, and with weeds creeping through—actually, covering—the bark. I foresee paving brick, landscaping cloth, lots more bark, and raised beds in the future.
(Also, have I mentioned how good it is to have daylight again?))
Anyway, I only got as far as the end of the fence while the light was still good, then we did some quick shopping and made dinner from leftovers and did laundry and set a pot of stock that I started making last night back on the burner to cook down. What is it about dryer sheets? the smell? Something, anyway, that makes me want to be even more domestic. Or else just makes me sound like Mickey Rooney on a bad day.