Up until mid-week, it was all coffee and paper, comparison and contrast, puzzling over a sentence. Then off went the electronic draft, followed by a solid hefty manuscript in the mail. I made this delectable pancake for a breakfast celebration, substituting some main ingredients with what I had on hand, but it was nevertheless a royal treat. I had gone to Mysore practice before as well–funny how things always taste better after yoga. Later, with the oven still hot, feeling industrious,I baked an acorn squash, and then decided I needed a nap.
Today, I had the very odd underwater sensation of now, what? What comes next? I skipped yoga, never a wise move. I put in a load of laundry. I began to read Tender by Nigel Slater in which he recounts the beginnings of his fruitful,splendid patch of land, and I tried to imagine what a garden, my garden, my garden of least effort, might look like. A garden of least effort would require lots of leafing through catalogs, drinking many cups of tea, plotting in a notebook. It would be a garden of winter leisure dreaming. I still don’t have an armchair. Doesn’t every garden dreamer’s winter need one? Overstuffed, taking too much room, piles of books and cups underneath? Maybe I’ll just throw a coverlet over my slender couch and pretend it’s an armchair. I’m already pretending I’ll have a garden.