cold
faintheart and I have had a semi-regular tradition of meeting up and going to one of the participating restaurants.I was planning on picking up another Moleskine notebook somewhere, and that was going to be the extent of my thrilling Thursday evening. I've filled up the one I bought in DC in October, and I really like the 'pocket-book' size because, unlike most other smallish notebooks I've owned over the years, it actually is bound and balanced such that I can write in it easily. Plus it reminds me obscurely of the little notebooks in which my various grandparents kept journals & notations of various types. Especially when I've been writing in mine with the lovely fountain pen McJulie gave me for my birthday a few years ago.
On a tangent, it always interests me how much my handwriting looks like my parent's and grandparents - especially since we learned different methods of script in most cases. It's less the way specific letters are formed than sort of an overall impression, for the most part, although occasionally I'll see a letter and think "that's exactly the way Dad used to make his 'r's" or some such. On a certain level it makes sense, since obviously I inherited my musculoskeletal composition from my parents - there are probably similarities to how we hold a writing utensil and approach the page - but somehow it also seems like this would be a venue where nurture might trump nature more strongly. It reminds me of how I often find myself thinking that artists resemble their art. How terrifically holistically mystic.
And who forgot to send the weather gods the memo that it's Spring now, eh? It felt like snow when I went out to get coffee earlier, and rumor has it there's been hail...
