Tuesday Morning

How do these hours creep and creep and creep away? My intention to sleep was blindsided by nothing more than the grade schooler's want to stay up past bedtime and read. Like a child under the covers with a flashlight, eyes squinty and searching frantically through the dream of a book like Nancy Mitford's.... I looked up and it was 11:30pm. I counted on the fingers of my right hand the hours I would get to sleep last night. I closed my book with a resignated sigh, and turned off the light.

Was it worth the tired eyes this morning, sitting up and listening to Windham Hill's the Impressionists and gobbling up the lovely banter such as this:

Louise was married in the spring. Her wedding dress, of tulle frills and sprays of orange blossom, was short to the knee and had a train, as was the hideous fashion then. Jassy got very worked up about it.

"So unsuitable."
"Why, Jassy?"
"To be buried in, I mean. Women are always buried in their wedding dresses, aren't they? Think of your poor old dead legs sticking out."
"Don't be such a ghoul. I'll wrap them up in my train."
"Not very nice for the undertakers."

-The Pursuit of Love, Nancy Mitford

Um...I heart this book.
Just so you know.
(Thank you Sally!)
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THIS WEEK IN BIRMINGHAM: