Sometimes when I can’t sleep I have a little party – candle, favorite book… my *best* cashmere shawl, quiet music, the remains of the stir-fry. I am blessed to have many friends on distant continents, guaranteed to be awake for a chat. Sometimes I just sit up quietly and watch the moon over the water, or the jets over Oakland, or on one memorable occasion, flames consuming Angel Island. I make notes, and grandiose plans, and wind down with a cup of hot milk, my favorite luxury.
The best books are of poetry, or pictures, because you don’t get drawn into a long narrative. Drawing is good too, though I tend to draw up house plans and start obsessing where to put the entrance to the root cellar, or the best arrangements of power outlets in some wildly extravagant workroom. The exact composition of the orchard, however, is a never-failing delight.
One day I will have a garden again, with all the things which please me, and shall end up an enthusiastic old horticultural bat, knee-deep in her own compost.
Have you noticed I haven’t mentioned the event which will happen in two weeks? That’s because I hate it, and endure it. Instead I will enjoy the high tides, the turning of the light, and (the only crack in my grinchdom) the local Boat Parade, which is delightful.