...has treated me kindly this year. Until today I've always spurned it as the shameless consumption based 'celebration' it is, but this morning I jumped on the bandwagon, primarily on Al's promise of time to myself and a nice bit of cheese in front of the DVD of my choice (embarrassingly, it's The Holiday, which I know will be at best mediocre - and probably won't reach even that standard - but it's highbrow compared to other favourites from the 1980s Brat Pack genre).
So today I have:
* had a sleep in until after daybreak (thanks, Nell);
* been given a bunch of flowers at church;
* discovered my pre-baby No. 2 jeans now fit me, despite ten days of comfort eating in the Brisbane suburbs;
* strolled in the sun down to the deli for cheese and olives;
* browsed in my favourite bookstore;
* purchased roses - tacky, garish, and sure-to-be fabulous;
* purchased some felts and materials in an attempt to kick start my erstwhile plans to learn to sew.
With some time in the garden scheduled for this afternoon, I deem this day to be Not Too Shabby.
Eating from the garden: more not-so-neighbourly walnuts baked in biscuits from a Moosewood recipe; chives, thyme, oregano, majoram, parsley and sage with mushrooms and cottage on toast for lunch; three unexpected and boldly crimson strawberries, discovered in the midst of the strawberry patch, and selfishly not shared with Lucy.