I don’t know what’s gotten into Handy, but he’s been on fire lately. He finished a large renovation he was doing for another client and started working on my never-ending list of home projects. So far this week, he’s found the best place for my compost bin, installed gutters over my mudroom, found the perfect rain barrel to catch the water from said gutters, fixed a broken door latch, stopped up a leak, and put a new screen door in the basement.
Then he went home and made a big pot of gumbo last night, a dinner-sized serving of which he brought over to me. When Handy is thus inspired, everyone benefits.
The delicious (and hot) gumbo had a temporarily arresting quality and I slept soundly for all of three hours until my eyes opened and I began studying the ceiling shadows for another three hours. When I drifted off again, I had a nightmare which was too horrible to write about and then the alarm went off.
Perhaps it was the excitement of May that kept me awake, with the delicate smell of spring in the air and a first sighting of a flowering tree this far north.
It might have been the hostas that have been poking their way through the ground or maybe even the “lady’s mantle” gently unfolding like paper fans in my rock garden.
Or it could have been the gumbo.
I’m not sure what kind of Friday it’s going to be, making my way into the morning on the fumes of yesterday’s spring air. I’m going into Portland for the day and Handy will be finishing up things for the week.
I wonder if he’s got homemade spring rolls on his list?