Spent a delightful time in Bill Coleman’s garden(s) this afternoon reading poetry, smelling the star jasmine and gardenias, listening to the fountain and the tweety little birds that flew to it (lesser goldfinches, house finches, chickadees and a disruptive scrub jay) and eating Bill’s delicious cheesecake. Two little Yorkies ran around peeing here and there and staking out places under the table, hoping to find some dropped crumbs. It all made me not want to come home. Actually, who would want to return to this place, with the floors torn up and light fixtures taken down, etc.? I’m in the process of packing up stuff that I don’t want to entrust to the construction people–my Santa collection, my Jim Robinson pottery, nick-knacks and do-dads. And where to stuff the candles–everything’s going into a pod outside while they replace the flooring. Candles would surely melt in the heat.
At least we will get to unpack again in the same place. Not so with Bill, who’s moving to Mountain Meadows. I think about the gorgeous Remington in the bathroom (!) and hope that maybe it will be for sale when all the fabulous excess is disposed of.