Last 80 Degree Day

That's what the weather man said, anyway.  He said today was probably the last day we'll hit 80 until next year and by next Wednesday the high temperature should eke into the mid-50s.  *sigh*  I'll be sorry to see the nice weather go.  Of course, my favorite weather is sunny, breezy, and mid-60s to 70 so that's still a possibility for the next few weeks.  We shall see what happens.

The Hummingbird came to the feeder this morning and I managed to snap a few photos of it hovering there.  I am amazed that its wings are moving so fast that you can barely see them.

This Chickadee came for a bath.  I took three shots and all of them are the same, a wet bird with no splashing.  Damn.

I hauled all my workout clothes to the basement today.  It'll be a while, a long while, before I feel comfortable enough to renew my Y membership and go out there to work out, with and without a trainer, so I decided that they didn't need to be taking up closet and drawer space.  Watch, by the time it's safe to go back to the Y none of them will fit.  I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

I also made a little jaunt to the yard waste lot.  When I trimmed the forsythia a couple weeks ago I carried the branches to the curb thinking that the city stick truck would come by for them.  Nope.  So I laid out a tarp in the back of my car and crammed the branches in there for the trip.  It isn't far to the yard waste and I stopped for gas on the way back.  It felt good to be out and about for a bit.

I worked on the Brangelina hat the rest of the day and made it to the crown decreases.  As much as the alpaca hat looked too small while I knitted it, this one looks too big.  I left it on the needle and tried it on.  It fits.  It's going to be for a person with a generous bean but there's bound to be a big-headed sailor that needs a warm hat.

23 September--Barbara Malcolm, Better Than Mom's. 

“Good morning, Steve,” she said. 

He looked at her. 

“Polite people say good morning back,” she said after a few minutes’ silence.  She almost imagined his bones creaking as his jaw unhinged. 

“Good morning,” he said, and she heard his teeth snap back together. 

She sipped her coffee.  “Steve, I have been very curious.  For all the time I have worked here at Better Than Mom’s you have come in every day, never missed one, and you have written.” 

He nodded but did not speak. 

“Every time I get anywhere close to you, you cover your writing or flip to a blank page.” 

He nodded, picked up his coffee mug and took a sip. 

“It is starting to hurt my feelings, Steve, that you think I will steal your words or maybe you think I will be offended.  Are you writing porn, Steve?” 

It took all Steve’s self-control not to spit out the mouthful of coffee. 

“Porn?  Is that what you think?” 

Fay shrugged.  “Well, a bunch of us were trying to figure out what you were being so careful to hide.  I figured that you are married, and you come in here to write so your wife does not bother you.  And what kind of writing would bother a woman of quality and good breeding?  A couple of the guys said they thought you were writing porn, but I said I did not think you have the look of a porn writer.”  She noticed that Steve was looking over her shoulder at the line of coffee codgers at the counter.  

“What have those guys been saying about me?  I used to work with a couple of them at the mill.  They never understood the kind of stress I was under all the time to keep figuring out new things to do with the waste from the processing plant.  And just because I never took part in their silly poker games or went to the golf outings, they thought I was a snob.  Well, it just so happens,” his voice got louder and louder with every word, “that I am a well-published author and I do not have time for such pursuits.” 

The sound of male laughter washed toward the two of them as they sat at the end of the dining area. 

Fay nodded back at the line up at the counter.  “Do not mind them, they are assholes.  So, tell me, Steve, what kind of books do you write?”

 Stevie was braiding his pen through his fingers and biting his lip.  “Do you really want to know?” he asked.  

“Yes, I do.  I am dying of curiosity.”  

“And you will not make fun of me?” 

“No, I will not make fun of you.  I think anybody who can write even one book is nearly a genius.” 

He took a few deep breaths and let them out slowly.  “Have you ever heard of Layne Wilcox?”

 Fay set her mug on the table and sat back.  “Of course, I have.  Who has not heard of her?  Her books are everywhere even in K-Mart.  Why?” 

Steve looked her straight in the eye.  “I am Layne Wilcox.”

“You are not.” 

Steve turned his notebook around and pushed it across the table to her.  Fay leaned over and read the page.  She sat back, her jaw slack and her eyes wide.  “Holy crap, you are Layne Wilcox, I would recognize her, I mean your, writing anywhere.”

Today's toss was a box of Wii accessories.  Durwood bought it for me when we were playing with the Wii a lot.  All of the pieces have a place to insert the controller so, for instance, the plastic tennis racquet would make it seem more like you're really playing tennis.  There's even a fishing pole!  Someone will love it.

--Barbara