Maybe it's an only child thing, but I go a little batshit if I don't have time all by myself. I am sometimes the most sociable creature in the world, but at other times, I really, REALLY don't want to have a conversation. With anyone. I just want to be blissfully immersed in my own head. It drives the H crazy; he says, and he may be right (though I think he's just as guilty of this!) that I get so lost in my own world that I pay no attention to my family (or, say, more specificially, him, ahem.) Maybe it's true. I don't know. But what I do know (for sure, as Queen Oprah would say) is that quiet time alone is one of my greatest luxuries and joys, and for me to be productive and civil, it's an absolute necessity. So while I am not technically alone this morning (Vous is silent in her garret above the garage; the dogs are downstairs eating bones, and the cat is skulking around, no doubt soon to find me and jump up onto the desk, because that's where cats want to be when you're working--in the center of everything--) I have the sensation of solitude, and it's lovely.
It gives me time to contemplate the things I have to do--plan the vegetable garden I'm about to start to construct down by the barns (advice welcome--I have never done this before and am relying heavily on these two books to teach me); plan summer travels and kids' activities; continue the Great Organization Project of