Flying solo
So Husband is off to the wilds of NYC for a week of jazz, family, jazz, meeting up with friends, jazz, maybe a museum or two, and some jazz (if he has the time). I'm home with Cipher (TWMAC, SYIYDA tm), a stack of books, about 75 hours of movies on TiVo, and a house that suddenly seems too big.

Don't get me wrong, I love my solo time. I love having complete ownership of the remote control, the bed, the blankets, the sofa, and the bathtub. I love not having to think about what to cook for dinner (and then cook it), having to clean up after dinner, or straighten up after anyone but myself. But I'm going to miss him, big time.

He just called. He's there safe, saw his folks, got an unintentional tour of Manhattan thanks to a "short cut" and is now getting ready for the Ron Carter show where he's going to meet up with another jazz critic and also meet up with, well, Ron Carter.

Me? I'm making a cake for me mum's birthday tomorrow. And, in the background, Top Gun with the sound off (because it's dumb but hey, they're so pretty). What can I say? I'm a sucker for the volleyball scene.