Nothing worthwhile went on yesterday. I had two customers, oh wait, one customer (a guy bought a snorkel) because I took a package to be mailed and repaid myself out of petty cash so I was the first customer. It was bitter cold and windy (no surprise there) and I didn't make much progress on either project in my knitting basket.
Today isn't looking much better. Except I might get to go see LC this afternoon if Mama's feeling okay and LC's not asleep. And there's Friday Night Knitting. But that's it. Really it. Cross my heart.
February 28--Gustav Klimt, Textile Sample. Hair moves like weeds in water. Delilah stood on the edge of the river and watched the right arm of the body wedged in the rocks float and wave in the current. The hair floated away from the head and spread across the face. She could see that the eyes were open. They looked milky and cloudy. They looked blind. Dead. It was a woman, she was sure of it, not because she knew who it was but the hand was small and pale, not a man's hand. Delilah's feet felt rooted in place as if waiting for the dead person to rise from the icy water and walk away. A hand touched her shoulder. She jumped and shrieked. "God, Jacob, you scared me to death. Don't sneak up on me." Her best friend shook her. "I didn't sneak. I called your name, you didn't hear me." He took a step toward the river. "Is that a body? Cool."
Can you believe today's the end of February already? Yeah, I know, I know, it's the shortest month and this year's not Leap Year, but still... Time = Zoom. I think I'll go make some pies. We've invited Daddy & Mama & LC over for Sunday supper (salad, chicken ratatouille, crusty bread) and we need pie. A lot of pie. Two kinds of pie. Besides the all-ready pie crusts are at their death date. Good excuse, um, reason, don't you think? Works for me. I'll be over here pie-ing. Talk amongst yourselves.