Mark left for Holland last night. He said it was the worst-prepared departure he’s ever made, putting his clothes out only the day before and still packing less than four hours before the taxi left. (I’m somewhat puzzled: I didn’t know there was any other way. Still don’t.) He’d been working on a demolition/renovation/storage projet for a client fourteen hours a day for the past few weeks which explains his unusual carelessness.
(Historical note: we met exactly three years ago this coming Friday. A week later we lit out for the Laurentians to spend a couple of days tramping around outside. A few days after that – so probably right around Hallowe’en, or about ten days after our first meeting – I wrote to my mother to tell her about this new person in my life who had “thrown me for such a loop.” I listed the things I thought I knew about him at that early date, one of which was that “he has strong opinions on food storage.” Turns out I was being too precise: he has strong opinions on storage generally. Very strong. And they’re generally good ones.)
After seeing him off at the airport I checked out the bookstores for Sara Paretsky mysteries and found one I hadn’t read. This morning saw me staying in bed until after one, cuddling with my dogs under the blankets, reading about V.I. Warshawski vs the Patriot Act and eating apple crisp and ice cream. I can handle this…
[originally transmitted by e-mail October 16, 2004]