Wind Sonata and a Carpet Cleaning Mess!

Today started off with a song. I opened the window to the sound of Bel Canto's "Birds of Passage", a beautiful tune that tells of the passage of time and the change, which comes to all of us. It also brings thoughts of Ireland's green fields and hillsides, when mist is enveloping them in a cocoon and the promise of rain hangs in the air. I shared my thoughts with Michael, who was just coming out of the shower, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist, and he gave me one of those special smiles of his. I call them his "knowing" smiles, which is a great amusement to him. Being half-Irish himself, he loves thinking of his father's homeland. Says it brings him a sense of peace. I'm planning a surprise for him, but will not share it here. My sweet "half-leprechaun" doesn't need to know about it... yet.

The wind was blowing really hard this morning. Its song could be heard throughout the street and through all of London, a sorrowful melody that can break your heart, if you listen carefully. Or so I keep on saying, making Michael laugh. He's quite content with being the practical half in our duo, but sometimes his lack of faith could be quite... exasperating. Though, I dare think, he says the same to himself, only in reverse. Whatever the truth is, I believe he was caught off guard, when I surprised him with a home-made breakfast of toast, and eggs, and ham and vegetables, and a cup of hot coffee, black and strong, just like he likes it. It won me a smile and a deep kiss, that gave my heart wings and made it fly like a caged bird in my chest. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. So fast that I thought it may explode, if Michael kept on kissing me, pressing his body into mine.

C'est la vie.

The only falling of breakfast, literally, was our cat Bast jumping on the kitchen counter and pretty much knocking everything on the carpet. Do not start on the whole "Why do you need a carpet in the kitchen?" issue. Michael loves going barefoot, OK? The result was that I was left with a mess on my hands and scrubbing is definitely not my favorite thing in the world. Michael suggested to take a few minutes to help me, but he was already late any way, so I told him to go. I'd take care of everything. Carpet cleaning couldn't be that hard now, can it? You just need a little... imagination.

If that doesn't help, a dry Martini is never too far away. It may not be a cure-all, but it is definitely close.

Surprisingly, Bast had the courtesy of looking ashamed by what she'd done. That made me feel better, as petty as it may sound. I took my time with the domestic cleaning, never a favorite activity of mine, and then rummaged through my wardrobe for half an hour in search of something to wear for a walk. I made a mental note to tell Michael we need to go shopping this weekend. He'd like to be informed in advance. And I'd like him to take that adorable little pout out of his system, before we venture into the world of London fashion.

La vie est belle.

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Author's note: Before you ask, Miss Picksby's out of town for the day. I'm sure she'd be back by tomorrow, though, and will have a lot more to say than usually.

Ah, some days just can't end fast enough.