Eunice (the little red truck) is home, and my pocketbook is somewhat scarred, but the pain was much ameliorated by the pleasure of driving a vehicle that is quiet and responsive. Although I'm going to have to relearn clutching, as the amount of play in the old slippy clutch was, yanno, about sixteen times what there is in the new tight shiny clutch. On the other hand, I can stop on hills now without rolling back into the guy behind me.
The guy behind me is pleased by this change.
And I only stalled it three times on the way home.
Also, it means that tomorrow I can go to the gym. Yay, gym!
I came home by the back way, because there was construction on the bridge I usually take, and that meant I got to swing through Wethersfield and stop at the tea shop and buy tea. Mainly Teas, the tea shop in the center of Old Wethersfield, is not far from Comstock, Ferre, and Co., which is sort of the world's most yuppie garden supply shop, if you can imagine such a thing. Picture, say, a nursery with no plants and a lot of apothecary desks in it. I have no idea what they sell there, other than seeds and tchochkes. But they have got this conservatory.
Well, I say conservatory. What it is, really, is sort of either the airiest greenhouse ever, with a graveled earthen floor dotted with paving stones, various sand tables with a paltry selection of plants on them (they used to have the giantest pitcher plant evar, but it seems to be gone now), and like, big trellis things that I guess you could grow potted clematis on, if you had a greenhouse/conservatory.
I covet this conservatory.
You all need to buy more books, so I can buy a house with a conservatory attached. And I will espalier dwarf lemon and grapefruit and lime trees up a brick wall on the north side, and plant a climbing fig and and a bouganvillea on a railroad tie arbor, and put a painted iron table in there that I can work at in my silk pajamas.
And I will sip tea and eat sliced pears, embrace the glamourous life of the writer, and think kindly upon you all.
What? It could happen!
...oh right, time to go earn my three cents a word. ;-) Tomorrow is Sunday. Maybe tomorrow I will write fanfic, for I am still on vacation for another five days.
truepenny, who is evil, force-grew a "five things that never happened to Aaron Hotchner" idea in my head the other night.
In other other news, Gordon Lightfoot is an evil evil man.