Friday grey, evening light

I had the most significant lesson this week! (Yes, I concur it’s not the most enlightened way of integrating incidents as meaningful, but there you go– the lesson-loaded frame technique is our legacy from many organized religious practices. I.e. What lesson can we take away from this story Yasmin, Stephen, Miyoung, Yusuf?) But, truly!

I’d been wearing my favourite pyjamas to write in for the last five days. The red and green checked set. Sometimes I’d have twinges of guilt around sloth (hello, I’m NOT CATHOLIC!!!), work ethic (this could fall under Protestant?) and professionalism, but then I’d think: Why not enjoy the delicious freedom of working from home COMPLETELY. Really, in the scheme of things, WHO CARES???

I’ve been roving in the house. Sometimes I work at my desk, sometimes at the kitchen table, and sometimes on the couch in the living room. The light is different in each room, and it seems to help me refocus when I’m feeling distracted. I’d been feeling a little cool, as we haven’t turned on central heating yet. Sometimes it felt breezy. Autumn, I thought. Soon to frost. My daughter returned from school and we went through our (my) standard questions. I asked her if she wanted a snack then turned toward the sink.

Hiromi! she cried out. Your BUTT!

What? I said, twisting my body to try to view it. I trotted to the full-length mirror, and my favourite pyjamas had a horizontal tear straight across one butt cheek, exposing my underwear and thigh in the most ignoble of ways….

That would explain the breeze.

(6_6) . I have taken this as a SIGN, that I ought to follow the advice of those oh-so-professional-minded freelance workers who advise people to dress for work, as you would if you weren’t working from home. That it affects your mental outlook, and your psychological perception of your work and your self. I.e. respecting your work and your self.

(THo I don’t think I’m disrespecting my self and my writing, to do it comfortably in a pair of homey pyjamas. Hmmmmm. I could just buy a few sets that serve as my Writing Uniform!!!! Hahahahahahaaaaa!)

Yesterday I gave myself permission to take time off writing and check out the chestnut trees. My friend, J, joined me on the day trip and we drove out past Mission. Alas, autumn is warm this year– the leaves on the trees are still green and the chestnuts that had fallen mostly withered. A few we found that had meat were pale and not ready. Maybe in a couple of weeks it might be better?(Or, it could just be a bad chestnut year. It has been said, by other foragers, that bad chestnut years means bountiful pine mushrooms!!!)  A little disappointed we decided that we would be happy with our picnic and still enjoy the outdoors. As we drove around looking for a suitable picnic place we stopped by a small shop/stand selling fireworks. The fireworks dude narrated a tale of the challenges of selling fireworks, how someone has to sleep at night in the shop to guard the stock. How last year someone tried to ram their car throught the wall during the night. How he can make more money selling fireworks around Halloween than the entire gardening season for vegetable and fruit. J asked him where there’s a good spot for a picnic, and he gave us directions to a spot by the Fraser River a couple of kilometres away. A local hangout. We’d have never figured it out on the map. He also told us about the Eagle Festival in November! I’d never heard of it and was most excited to learn about this event. Will definitely go back to see this! (Nature and eagles willing, of course. As J and I discussed, nature is unpredictable. Just because I picked chestnut every other year in and around Thanksgiving, it doesn’t mean it will happen again this year.)

Had a lovely picnic beside the river. Watched a grey heron, Butoh-like, on the look for fish. The waters cloudy with sediment. Ugh! I exclaimed. How are we supposed to see the spawning sockeye when it’s so muddy? (As if the water should be clear for my viewing pleasure, as if the Fraser has ever been unmuddy….) Far across the wide wide river, an enormous flock of collaborating crows (they’re not murderers!!!). And three bald eagles! They stood in the river’s edge, on the other far side. Our sarnies were so delicious. Low-salt chips. Nectarines and barley tea. The small flurries of falling leaves, spiralling down, to swirl a second time in the water’s eddies.