I wouldn’t say it’s a quiet life I seek. More like a ‘quiet-ish’ life.

You see, I’m the sort of person who claims to look forward to a rainy day, declaring it’s nice just to keep the horses in their stalls and have a day off from training and get caught up on all the overdue chores in the house.

Well, that’s what I claim. It’s actually a ‘porky pie,’ which, as my mother will tell you, is cockney rhyming slang for “lie.”

Because no matter how honorable my intentions, I will be half way through a load of laundry and, rather like an unsupervised, bored child, become quite certain there must be something more entertaining to do, elsewhere. This could manifest itself in the form of making a cup of hot chocolate, straightening the Christmas wreath on the front door or picking up my battered (and borrowed from my elementary school library), beloved, copy of ‘National Velvet’ to reread for the 27th time. Feeling slightly wicked, I chose both hot chocolate and Velvet. It didn’t occur to me that any further distraction I sought might actually seek me.

With the comforting knowledge that Paul would be in Hendersonville until after lunch and unable to catch me wallowing in idleness, I donned my sweats and sprawled on the sofa, dogs draping over various extremities, cracked open Velvet to let it fall to any page and read,

‘His hoofs came down sweetly on violets, grass and knitted thyme, clanking on a flint, breaking the crisp edge of a wheel rut. He took in everything, behind, before, and from the body astride him. Below, the chimneys were smoking up like poplars and a light was lit in the cobbler’s shop.’

I was glad I had forgotten to return (better known as stealing) the book from the library, I decided, flipping through its worn pages. It was far too elegantly written to have been wasted on some unappreciative, nose-picking fifth grader. Hardly a child’s book at all, I mused, much too sophisticated in style. In fact…

Thump.