I Haven't Moved

I still live in Wisconsin where winter is legendary.  So how come it was almost 40 degrees today and rainy?  In January.  In. Sane.  That means that there's a real chance that it'll be all slippery when I want to drive to the Y tomorrow to work out with T the Trainer.  Grr.  Look at these puddles.  There's supposed to be ice in the birdbath but instead there are waves because it's also windy.  Further insanity--I just checked the temp on my phone ad it's 43 degrees at 9 o'clock at night.  In Wisconsin.  In January.  I give up.



I cooked.  I haven't been cooking much except for making soup to feed my cold but today I made Shrimp with Spicy Cuban Black Beans.  It was good and there's enough for supper tomorrow.  Hooray!  I need to get back to eating better.  It will make me feel better, emotionally and physically, and I need that.  Man, do I need that.


Lately I haven't had much knitting mojo (or, really, anything mojo) so when I finished the Advent garland mittens and socks and crocheted cord, I didn't have anything to lay my hands on.  There's that fuzzy, felted hat which needs a surgical intervention.  I had hoped to have a more experienced knitter stop over for a lesson in using Ravelry today and then see if she could help me with the hat but she had to cancel.  Another time.  Anyway, I grabbed some yarn and cast on a Seamen's Church Institute cowl, just for something to do.  The Guild is doing a knit-along pillow and I have the yarn and needles and pattern but maybe I'll feel like taking a run at it when this stoopid cold is really and truly gone from my throat and chest.  Doc's appointment tomorrow afternoon.  Fingers crossed for a miracle.

09 January--Barbara Malcolm, Spies Don't Retire. 

The sun was getting low in the sky as Bunny and Gomez hauled all the coolers and the grill back to the boat while George and Dimitri rounded up the snorkelers for the trip back to Bonaire.  Before they left shore for the last time, George insisted on making one last walk up the beach to make certain nothing was left behind.  He was swimming back to the boat when Bunny turned the key and nothing happened.

Bunny went from leaning most of his weight on one hip to standing up and leaning over the key.  He turned it again, his head cocked as if the sound of the key would tell him something.  Gomez stood at the bow with the mooring line unhooked from the cleat held in his hand, ready to release it as the boat moved away.  Bunny shook his head and stepped around the men to lean over the stern to make sure nothing was wrapped around the propeller.  Gomez hooked the line back around the cleat and joined him.  The two of them conferred at the stern before Bunny went back to the wheel and turned the key again.  By then the men realized that there was something wrong and all conversation had stopped.  One or two of them had their own boats and offered suggestions but Bunny and Gomez seemed to be in their own little world, Bunny at the key and Gomez at the stern.  Gomez pushed himself up and went below.  Once out of sight of the passengers his voice could be heard calling the boat names and then when it still didn’t start cooing at it as if to a stubborn child.  He poked his head out of the hatch and said, “Call Franz, she won’t budge.”

Maybe if the weather straightens out those of us (and we are legion) felled by this virus, plague, or whatever will be healed and I can get back to feeling like myself and acting like myself.  I miss having energy.
--Barbara