1) I woke this morning as from the dead, heavy as concrete after a night in which I only got up once in eight hours. Coffee and devotional in the parlor: the Jefferson Bible and The Art of Worldly Wisdom.
2) Promptly at 9:00 AM I left the house for a vigorous walk through the arboretum. I intended to get to the top of Peters Hill in the "back 40," but cut my walk to an hour so I could get to the co-op for a couple things. Still, I barely broke stride for 90 minutes, and it was a gorgeous day for it.
2a) "Get to the top of" is much less pretentious than "crest the summit," particularly in this case.
3) On return, I immediately threw myself into housecleaning, aided by that Big Hit from 2015 that I Only Just Discovered, "Uptown Funk." No doubt Newland Archer's mother would nod approvingly since I "don't appear in advance of the fashion."
4) Devoted myself to a column in the afternoon, spread out like a canapé that's bad for you on the day bed, and then subsided into the bathtub for tea with Deborah Davis's Party of the Century: The Fabulous Story of Truman Capote and His Black and White Ball.
5) It is now cocktail hour, and I still need to turn my attention to more housework, dinner, Repeal Day, and a few phone calls. Six hours to bedtime - how much can I get done?