mjj (flemmings) wrote,
mjj
flemmings

It isn't that cold at night, but I am. Discovered the trick: wool blanket under feather duvet (and the usual flannel nightshirt, flannel pants, ancient hoody and socks.) Oh the sweet sweet sleep, that I had to cut short to be up for the 10 am animal people.

Who were pricey but efficient. $450 later I have a one-way door on the hole the squirrels ate into the fascia, and various anti-critter measures about the vents and what-all on the roof. Shall hope this is the last I hear of them.

As one gets older one begins recycling time. This is sometimes dreary but right now rather wonderful: to be living in a reworking of 2003, mind full of Pipang's poems and Karin's pearl spirits and Immortals; or sometimes 1996, thinking 'I must buy my tickets for Tokyo in December, and register for the JLPT'; with just a frisson of the two French autumns, five years and a lifetime apart, 1975 in Pau and 1980 in Paris on my way to Florence. I can't remember a place well unless I'm there, and the same goes for times; but now I remember all those years very well.

Here at post-solstice when the blue hour happens before 7:30 and darkness comes at a quarter to eight.
Tags: place, rl_14
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