or maybe minions, although I don't intend to use them for any evil schemes, so I guess elves is right. Elves seem friendlier, don't they? I mean, Santa has elves so they've got to be nice if they're the jolly old elf's helpers. See? Clement Moore is the one who told us that Santa is an elf, a biggish one, but an elf nevertheless. A-a-anyway, the reason I need elves is to get 1508 totally ready for new renters, which I have been working at all month since Jenny left, without having to give up any of my regular activities like walking or biking or knitting or...or...or whatever I really want to do instead of chores, like goofing off on the computer--yeah, that's a good one too. If all my plans come together I should finish up this weekend, then the carpet cleaners can come, and it'll be ready. It's a big job.
September 21--Oma Island, Norway. The water that lapped at the house's stone foundation felt like it flowed directly from the glacier. Andrea shook the water off her reddened fingers and licked off the barely salty droplets that clung to her skin. Oma Island where Grandma Kari's house stood precariously on the edge was nearly a hundred miles from the sea. When Andrea was small, Grandma Kari had told her that the great orcas that swam up the fjord dragged streams of salty seawater with them to mix with the melt from Palme glacier just a few miles to the east. She had believed the fanciful tale because of the speed and power of the orcas as they sliced their way through the water like juggernauts.
I'm thinking Grandma Kari has passed and Andrea is there to sort through the house and get it up for sale. Maybe. Tree trimmers are playing chainsaw melodies right outside my window. Not very conducive to thought.