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Yesterday we celebrated my mother's birthday. I made soup from the leftover vegetables in the fridge - onions and garlic and butter-browned mushrooms chopped small, leftover green beans, carrot and broccoli and three small potatoes left over from the previous day, vegetable and chicken stock, Italian seasoning, all simmered up together, part-blended, and served with creme fraiche stirred in to give it a creamy texture - and we cooked ham and cabbage and tiny potatoes for dinner. My beloved had made a cake, and we sang Mum happy birthday with candles.

I'm really very lucky to have the life I do, and the people in it.

I mean, I'm not currently loving culling my hoard of books, so that whenever the house C and I are planning on moving into actually becomes ours, we'll have slightly less huge a job in hauling paper: I feel like a small, resentful dragon having its hoard pulled out from beneath its claws piece by piece. Since this process started, I have reduced the total number in my catalogue (despite also adding new items to that catalogue) by a minimum of 130 volumes. Since the number to Go Away also includes volumes that were never actually added to the catalogue, there are six large bags and two small carry-on suitcases full of books to leave MY POSSESSION and find new homes.

It's a painful process.

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