Showing how easy it is to drop a habit

even when it's a good one. And how easy it is to pick it up again. I hope.

I've been thinking about writing — generally, here, something, I know not what — for days, but the inclination has not been strong enough to find the opportunity to do so.

I've just returned from a wonderful yet totally unproductive shopping excursion. I bought nothing, except a porkchop, which I don't think should count. I'm mildly disappointed that I did not find any fluffy animal slippers, which I'm hoping to buy for Helena on the occasion of her birthday this weekend. And that I couldn't decide which jigsaw puzzle she'd like best. No, that's not true — she'd like a Dora puzzle, but a bigger one than she's already mastered, and I did spot one, but I couldn't bring myself to actually buy it cuz, frankly, I'm kind of sick of Dora — we have a puzzle, a bag, a DVD, some figurines, as well as the somewhat more practical pillowcase, shirts, socks, and underwear. However, I expect as Helena's special day nears, I will succumb to that great marketing machine. But not today.

But it's a lovely fall day, and I've been crunching through leaves, and the air is crisp (almost too cold to go a-wandering without a beret, but that replacement purchase will have to wait for another day), and the moon is huge as I was heading home, and I feel almost like I'm in love.

Also, I'm very excited that my sister is coming for a visit next week, and she tells me she's bringing Helena a trainset. I can't wait! And she's bringing me a signed copy of Margaret Atwood's The Penelopiad, because it's soon to be my birthday too, even though this makes me feel slightly pressured to actually read the Odyssey now.

The weekend was full of sleeping and reading and walking and taking the girl for a haircut and also watching Charlotte's Web, more than twice, which I haven't watched in its entirety for many years, though I have tried to introduce it to Helena a few times. I guess it's finally taking. And this in part is contributing to my overall cheeriness, because running through my head all day is that silly little song "Chin Up," and while getting tunes stuck in one's head is generally pretty annoying, it's hard to go wrong with a sentiment like that. The movie is also pretty jarring cuz there's all that reality of farmlife and death, which is a good thing, the reality, but I'm quite suprised at the strength of my instinct to protect the kid from all that.

Last week I drafted thoughts aplenty on the Peter Carey book I'd finished reading. I will likely post said thoughts here shortly, possibly without even reviewing them. I'm slightly weirded out by the dialogue the books I've been reading of late are having with me and amongst themselves — they seem all to be referring to each other, and I don't know if it's coincidence, or the magical cast of Don Quixote on my reading life, or if maybe I'm a little bit smarter and better able to see connections than I used to be.

And now I will go cook a porkchop.