December 23, 2014

Lady Grey tea. Writing in the guestroom, three big boys asleep in the study upstairs. My nephews stop here on the way to ski, coming through the door like the scene from Fred’s party in A Christmas Carol. Their affection for one another is secret treasure.

The burly Hungarian–I guess--came to look at the furnace. The problem was, of course, dire and presently unfixable. The gas pan? Is that what he said? He MAY know where to find the part today, but no promises. I don’t think I called the company I meant to call, the one where I had paid for “priority” service. This may have been part of our confusion on the telephone. On one level it’s embarrassing how darkly I react to things like plumbing and furnaces. On another level, I think if I’m intractable enough maybe the universe will be moved to hurry the bitter moment along.

Adam and Steve came to visit and look at the tree and drink some Montepulciano and pick up Adam’s laptop, which I gave him out of my store because his was lost in a New York break-in. Cheerful, wide-ranging chit-chat. As usual, I have the least to offer conversationally. I don’t really do anything. Ruined an experimental cheesecake while waiting for them to arrive.