Monday, February 20, 2012


I went out and got in my car yesterday afternoon and look at what I saw! Flower bulbs are up! Yahoo!!! There are daffodils, the same daffodils that I planted when we first moved into this place in 1978, and some crocuses I planted a couple years ago. I had to replant since the ones I had in the ground got all confused with a warm winter a couple years ago so they make leaves whenever the spirit moves them and never make flowers. We can't have that, now, can we? The reason I got into my car was so I could drive up to the corner used car lot to get the VIN number of the car/wagon/SUV that I'm lusting after. It's an "arrest me" red HHR. (Ooh, baby, come to Mama.) If the woman who looked at the duplex on Saturday really rents it, I can have it, otherwise I need to wait so we can use that money to pay the duplex bills until it's rented. Man, I hope all her references pan out and she rents it. (I hope, I hope, I hope.) DS & DIL1 came over to reattach our washer for us (well, DIL1 said she came for eye candy, DS did the work) so I (happily) spent the afternoon and evening in the basement doing laundry. While I was down there I worked on the February quilt blocks for the Block of the Month Quilt Along I signed up for. Since I'm trying not to knit or web surf too much to give my wrists a rest, sewing has to satisfy my urge to make things. Durwood made a lovely chicken stir-fry for supper and we had a good talk. It's so great to have that person you can talk to, just plain old talk. I know I complain about him not being gone like he used to be, so I don't really have any at-home private time, but he's really the person I like spending time with the most. He's who I look for when I'm sad or frustrated or hurt or happy. I hope you have someone like him in your life.

February 19--John Sanderson & Thomas Roberts, Dining Room from Kirtlington Park. Lila stood just inside the door of the yellow room. The far reaches were in shadow and the crystals of the chandelier tinkled though she felt no breeze. The rest of the house was alive. This room was dead. She edged along the wall toward the tall windows that overlooked the garden. Maybe if she opened the draperies. Maybe if sunlight flooded in. Maybe if fresh air pushed inside forcing out the stale air, maybe then she could stand to be in the room. Her hand tugged the pull that should have opened the drapes but it came off in her hand. Determined to let in air and light she fought through the heavy brocade, coughing when she inhaled dust, but finally her hand touched glass. She was between the draperies and the French doors. Her hands found the latch. She pulled and tugged, searched for a lock button, but the doors wouldn't open. She pushed and rattled the handles but gave up and turned to fight her way out of the suffocating space but she couldn't find the gap. Couldn't lift the hem to crawl under. The folds of the heavy fabric twisted around her, choking her, keeping her there in that limbo between light and dark, between life and death.

Look at that. I made a story. Finally. Hot damn. I'm off to eat my Cheerios, take a shower, go to the chiro, and go to work. Ah, work, seems like I was just there--and I'll be there every day (except for tomorrow when I have a nerve test of my wrists/hands/arms until Sunday). Think of your paycheck, Barbara, and cheer up. Adieu, mes amis.

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