a wet morning.
taxi to the physio.
a reasonable day at work.

to follow a weekend of no particular wonderfulness, but plenty of wonder.
I slept in on saturday, which not just  means something like 'past seven' ... sat around in the morning drinking coffee, admiring the sunshine creeping over the street. my street. i'm not quite there yet.

am came over mid morning, delivered a power tool (i shit you not) and shared a cup of tea.
the rest of the day passed in house-stuff, then dinner at the 'currants' house. i left before the insidious tour de france watching transported me back to cleaver street times and sleeping on the couch. walking home again, 11ish, under a huge bright moon, no music, just me. it's starting to feel less scary.

sunday dawned sparkly and I rode to the market, met the honey seller, and the fishmonger, my vegetable man with his son serving. It was good to be back. i considered briefly the foolishness of riding to a market so far away, but i know that there are some pieces of my routine that won't bend to change, and shouldn't.

the weekend was capped off by a meeting over the interwebs of three generations of us gyorgy women - always a gift and always a giggle.

this week is a new week. new days, shiny and uncreased.