The weather that I associate with San Francisco winters is upon us: white skies in the morning, giving way to gray in the early afternoon, and dusk descending earlier than I'm used to. Rain comes and goes. Daphne perches herself on the couch, cat-like, keeping watch with her scout kerchief on. We begin to use the heater, which gives off a dusty, comforting smell, and Chris and I go to our customary brunch spot on Saturday morning without Daph due to the rain, sometime around 7:30 AM; the place is full of old men wearing suspenders, tattooed, hunched over their coffees. I am literally the only female in the building who is not a waitress.
Today I am working on my book, polishing and sanding it all over, and H, who is reading it now (for the umpteenth time -- thank you, H), is going to Lapland in a few weeks to do research for her second novel. She will be staying with reindeer herders, seeing the Northern Lights, and living north of the Arctic Circle. What an adventure, I tell her.
Enjoy your Saturday, lovelies.