It feels like weeks since I've been in the good old dive shop. Thanks to Mrs. Boss I had last Monday and will have next Monday off. Ahh. I do get my paycheck today so I can evict the moths from my wallet; that's a good thing. I ditched any plans to loll on the couch or shop for Wii games yesterday and went to Cookie's house to knit with her and Skully. I hadn't seen them in days and days and I needed to. We spent a few happy hours catching up and knitting. More engineering is needed to help Fifi Jr. stay upright. I tried to tie a couple of guy strings but that wasn't enough so I leaned her against the house. She looks a bit tipsy but at least she's standing instead of sprawled unladylike on the frozen lawn. The squirrels have made off with the two lowest bundles of suet and they're working on the third one. Durwood keeps reporting on it but I don't really care. It amuses me to watch them work. We need to win the lottery. I need unlimited time to pursue all my hobbies and stuff. A magic wand would be good too. I'll work on it. You do that too and maybe we can come up with something. I'm also thinking of renting a flamethrower to help clean out the basement--and maybe the rest of the house. I'm tired of the 1970s carpeting, linoleum, and avocado appliances and sinks. Ugh. I want new stuff but the damned old stuff is still good. I'm at the point where I want to scrape out all the stuff in the house and start over. Durwood doesn't like that idea but I swear that I'll keep him. Really, I will. And my laptop, sewing machines, fabric, yarn, all the tools power and hand, and a few other things, but most of it's old and never used. Clearing out starts next weekend. Cross my heart and spit.
December 27--Edward Hopper, The Lighthouse at Two Lights. It was an Andrew Wyeth day when Len and Gina took the picnic boat out to Two Lights. Uncle Mayo called the little Cris Craft "the picnic boat" because it was the perfect size to run up on a peach for a private afternoon of lunch and a nap. The sky was wide and six shades of blue, with a smear of thin clouds (for art) out over the inlet. The grass on the slope below the lighthouse had reached its full golden ripeness and waved like undulating silk in the cooling breeze. Len had proposed the week before, Gina had accepted, and the couple's happiness floated behind them like the fragrance of lilacs. Gina had spent the morning making chicken salad just the way Len liked it and crushed fresh strawberries for the lemonade. Mama warned her that cake would be too sweet with the lemonade; that cookies would be better. Gina insisted that cake was always a better choice. Mama cried and cried that she'd been sharp with her only daughter over cake versus cookies once the bodies were found over there below the lighthouse. That was before any of them knew what had happened.
There. There's a little mystery to start this cold and sunny day. Bundle up, kids, it's ball-shrinking cold out there. Time to dig out the longjohns. Brrr.