Drove back to Newfield from Chestertown after two weeks away. Fourth round trip in as many months felt like coming home in a way it hadn't before. Spotty showers turned to steady drizzle; Cappy and I lay down on the bed and fell asleep. Woke myself for a grocery run and went all out, since the larder was intentionally bare. Allowed myself to look for things like bread for the first time rather than trying to beat the clock while the dog waits in the car. Making peace with the notion that life in this house will not be disciplined like the last (one weekly trip to the store; pots of yogurt, then oatmeal, prepared twice weekly, etc.) for a while to come, or for the arrival of a prep surface.
Excepting of course the david stein Memorial Salad Spinner, which has finally succumbed to entropy and must be replaced. (david's cheese bell happily upcycled from the end of the old driveway; why was it so important that I be heir to it, or to anything else?). I am accustomed to instigating purges, but this time the judgments are not mine and I dare not refuse them. How could so many eternal things simply break after a month in storage? Better to be a narcissist and call it a cosmic conspiracy.
Did a lot of knitting while gone, less and less adequate the further it proceeds. What a joy and wonder it would be to get rid of every lick of fiber and fabric in the place, to create something hideous and never look at it again!