Sweet Sunday

Howard and I are going to a party and we are late because of, you guessed it, him. This business about women always being the ones who take a long time to get ready is total bull. The guys are the ones who take a long time. They have to decide between this tie and that. This jacket and that. Next, where are their shoes? Then they go into the bathroom.

At least now I have time to blog.

I am in a good mood, too. I have had a relaxing day. Here are things I did today to relax: I got up early enough so I wouldn't have a mad rush to church. Good thing, too, because that Jog for the Jake was going on. Those control-freak volunteers were out there and they could not wait to put a hand up and make me stop. But it didn't get me that mad, because I wasn't in a big hurry.

When I got home I played the piano for a while. I played Schubert. That felt wonderful.

Then I worked on the book and wrote only about things I wanted to remember. I mean, I wrote about nice conversations I had with Leonard Pennario and times we laughed at each other's jokes and kidded around instead of times I had asked him about things he didn't want to talk about and made him mad at me.

Next I called Leonard just to yak. I told him about going to the library the other day and checking out certain books, including one by this one noted "critic" we hate. We mocked out this "critic." Leonard said, "That book sounds caustic." I said, "Well, Leonard, he had nice things to say about you." Pennario didn't care. I love when he gets like that.

Then I went downstairs and made a blueberry pie. I have not made a pie in forever. I have forgotten how relaxing it is. I made a great buttery crust. That is the secret to easy pie crust: Use real butter, and what's not to love? There is no going wrong. I made this pie and listened to Mahler. That is a very nice way to spend an hour of a Sunday afternoon.

Somewhere along the line I pruned my rosebushes, too. I am trying not to be the one-house ghetto on the block. Clipping roses is a wonderful thing to do. Rose bushes are like pie crusts in that everyone thinks they're very difficult, when actually they're very easy. Roses grow on their own. And they hold their own, too.

Howard is ironing now. I have a little more time. What else did I do? I made a pasta dish to take to the party. It has apples and collard greens in it. Don't knock it till you try it. It is problematic to eat with my braces but I am going to try.

That is a relaxing Sunday but now I am being dragged away from my blog. Would you believe Howard is ready to go? He looked over my shoulder. "I see the word ghetto," he said.

My new resolution is to make every Sunday as nice as this one.