I was so busy at work yesterday that I barely had the strength to wriggle last night (I even made my "steps" without leaving the building) but I did manage to make three more meatballs. Seeing them there in their paltry nest of spaghetti shows me that I'm not quite done crocheting yet. I'll take the "noodle" yarn and hook to work with me today and crank out at least four more noodles. It just needs more pasta.
This morning's sunrise was beautiful. I went out to top up the birdbath and ended up filling feeders too just to bask in the early morning beauty. Ahh. Of course now it's as gray as an old horse and will probably be dreary the livelong day but at least it started with a moment of color and light.
February 16--Carl Bloch, In a Roman Osteria. He wasn't happy; that was obvious. Julian was minding his business eating a late lunch at the little cafe and a pair of young women at a nearby table were flirting with him. He hadn't said a word, hadn't winked or smiled at the girls. He thought they might be sisters. They were giving him the kind of looks that promised things. The young man seated across from them frowned deeper as time passed. He looked from one to the other, voiced his displeasure with a hiss and a jab of his fork but the girls didn't even blink. Then he half-turned to send Julian a scorching look. Julian wasn't intimidated.
And that's it for today. Doesn't "osteria" sound like it's a boneyard? Osteo=bones, right? I'll look it up later. I need to make a quick funeral home call on my way to work so I'm outta here. I don't like going to funerals but it's so important for the family to see that you care for them that I make myself go. You do know that you don't have to stay forever, right? You can go in, say "I'm so sorry," say a prayer (if that's your thing), sign the register, and leave. They won't really remember what you say, only that you were there, so just guts up and go. I'm getting off my soapbox (I seem to have so many) and hustling on out. Later.