Monday, Payday

I always look forward to going to work on Mondays because Monday is payday at the dive shop. I love pulling the cash out of the safe and having that little check in there too. I sign my timecard, write a new one for the week, and then tuck my paycheck into my wallet. Ahhh, what a lovely feeling. About one-third of my pay goes into the grocery wallet on the kitchen shelf, $50 of it goes into my stash to pay for weeks at The Clearing or weekend retreats with friends, and the rest is mineminemine to do with what I will. I can buy yarn or fabric or books or kites or lunch or... or whatever I want. Liberating, that's what that is. I'm trying not to buy yarn this year because I have a metric crapload of the stuff down in the basement. Bringing home stuff from Mom's (sewing stuff like thread and a bit of this and that which added up to another metric crapload) has shown me that I have to stop being sentimental and sell Mom's stuff and also that I need to stop, dead stop, buying anything until I get some of the fabric and yarn down there sewn and knitted/crocheted up. Last night we took DS & DIL1 out for supper to celebrate his 33rd birthday and to thank them both for all their help with Mom's funeral and the attendant activities, then we retired to their place for cake. Mmm, steak followed by carrot cake. It was an excellent night. DD & DIL2, you're next, just as soon as you get here next month. This is not a threat, it's a promise.

November 13--Edmund C. Coates, Bay and Harbor View. "Sailing, sailing over the bounding main..." Mark's voice boomed with joy in the early morning light. From the back seat stereo roans greeted his song. "Dad, don't sing," Avery said with all the pain a thirteen year old can put in his voice. "Yeah, Dad," ten year old Lisa said, "I'm sleeping." Just then the car floated over a small hill and the kids gasped and giggled at the momentary weightless thrill. Thank god they're not too jaded and sophisticated to enjoy a good tummy tickle, Mark thought. The morning sun glinted on the chop of the bay between the small harbor of Bay Ridge and Bedlow Island a half mile offshore. The morning was brightening fast and he couldn't wait to get his ketch rigged and out on the water. Even if the kids grumbled about it he knew they liked to sail with him.

Ooh, everything's too happy and going too well. I feel a storm coming on. Have a day.
--Barbara