I continue to marvel at the fact that the wisteria on some people's walls is still blooming. I think that the wisteria was all bloomed off by the end of May in Cambridge. I might just be mistaken, though.

If my neighbors have been trying to figure out who the new kid on the block is, they may have seen me dining room dancing to this song. But I don't think they care, at least for now, which is okay with me.

I have a washing machine in my kitchen, and it is also a dryer. This combination turns out to be space-saving but not much else good; it seems that it would take about three hours to dry my clothes (lightweight clothes, too--not jeans yet, for instance) in the same metal drum that just washed them. And so I suspect that I will be line- and rack-drying my clothing for the next year. Because I have been scoping out cultural happenings via Twitter feeds, I am tempted to write #TheMonasteryIsMoreHookedUpThanThis--but that's several kinds of wrong, since the monastery is far from technologically backward, and even having a washing machine in the house is something a person without a car and in a town where laundromats have not yet made themselves visible should remember to be happy about. (But seriously: putting a washer and a dryer together as one unit seems to me a strange choice. I'm happy to be corrected about its brilliance and/or efficacy, however.)

The one conversation I had today was with the man whom I paid for my living room's new tiny end table and 1938 copy of Dorothy Sayers's Gaudy Night at the three-story antique mall on the waterfront. "You have a table and a book," he said. "It seems to me the perfect combination," I replied. "Quite," he said.

Which is another way of saying that it was a lovely and quiet day.