-I came home early and put on pajamas, like I'd been wanting to do all day. Lit a candle, because the house still smells like Mardi Gras. Read about 20 pages of Mrs. Dalloway before falling asleep. Woke up twice because I was cold, but didn't have it in me to actually get under the covers. Slept until Richie got home at 6:30.
-We read Thomas Keller's Ad Hoc in bed and decided to cook quail with gremolata butter for Valentine's Day. Chatted with Marla.
-Richie scavenged in the fridge, pulling out pieces of a rotisserie chicken, a block of habenaro cheese I'd gotten him as a little gift, some bits and piece of onion, chive, and shallot, a half empty container of spinach, leftover from a giant batch of scrambled eggs I'd made for our guests. We decided to make spinach/apple/cheese/chicken quesadillas. Richie chopped vegetables, while I washed some of the mountain of dishes and repeated the word "gremolata" to myself, liking the way the vowels rolled around my mouth.
-We didn't talk, just stood back to back in the kitchen, studiously and cheerfully working at our tasks.
-I made a rum drink with homemade simple syrup, but I poured too much club soda in it. I felt obliged both to offe Richie a sip and to apologize for diluting the drink, feeling slightly ashamed that my homemade simple syrup drink didn't taste as good as it should.
-I chopped an apple and thought about how nice it was to have our house, our time, and our food back to ourselves, not even sharing this meal with Matt, but just something for us to eat in bed, with feet intertwined while we listened to the local classic rock station.
This evening seems fitting for Lent. We've wrapped up the excess of Mardi Gras, begun to sweep it out of the house, dispose of the leftovers, indulge in quieter pleasures. I spent my day so tired; my soul needed a calm evening.