down, do...wn it went, huh, stopping at -2.5#. Now, don't get me wrong, losing 2.5# in one week is a monumental achievement. I was surprised that it wasn't more but pleased. Then I put on panties and a camisole and went into the living room to step into the Wii Fit Plus. And it told me I had gained 2.5# since the day before. GAINED. Are you kidding me??? I looked at the weight number and it was exactly the same as it had been on the balance scale just moments before so I knew that my underwear didn't weigh 2.5#, but you see where the peeve came from, don't you? All week long it was -.5#, day after day. Add up -.5# over 6 days and you get -3#. Oh. I just de-peevified myself. Nevermind. The longer I have Beverly my new (red) HHR, the more I like her. This morning I went out to see if I couldn't consolidate and clear out some of the crap I had in the back, maybe get down to one box/bag. Things like jumper cables, a blanket, first aid kit, shipwreck, bird & fish ID books, binoculars, a gazetteer, bungies, a screwdriver or two, a hank of clothesline, sunscreen & bug spray, my "crossing Baird Creek on a logjam" stick. You know, the normal stuff. I discovered in the owner's manual that there are two lidded compartments in the floor behind the second seat. All of the rope, bungies, tools, and first aid stuff fit in those. Beverly has a movable section of floor in back, under which is the spare tire access panel, but you can also take that section out and put it in higher slots kind of like your oven racks. Even with the floor in its lowest slots there's still room below it for my jumper cables, blanket, and canvas hold-all of ID book. !!!!! Now the only things in the wayback are my umbrella and walking stick. Hmm, I just had a thought. I should get DS to show me how to carve a spirit face in my stick. That'd be cool, wouldn't it? (Just what I need, another mania.) Anyway, I'm ready to go on errands so I can spend the afternoon and evening playing with my sewing, so here goes...March 5--Louis Comfort Tiffany, Vase. "You aren't putting those... that... him in that Tiffany vase." Margaret pronounced it vahze, scorn and disbelief dripping from her words. "No, of course not," Babe said, turning the tall, narrow glass vessel in her hands. "It doesn't have a cover." She set the vase back on the shelf, closed the cupboard door, and locked it. It had been barely a week since Babe's husband Charlie had died. She needed to find a suitable container for his cremains. She thought that was a dreadful word for what was left of the loveliest man she's ever met. She refused to agree to use one of the dreadful urns from the mortuary. Some of them, the "sprinkler" models, looked like wine bottle gift boxes, others were too blah, and still others reminded her of the radiator on a Chrysler. No, she and Charlie had been collectors all their lives. She had to have something suitable. Weren't there some cigar boxes in Charlie's dressing room?
Oh, I like that. It reminds me a bit of Christopher Moore's A Dirty Job and my life late last year. I'm off to the shoe repair shop to see if he can't glue an insole into my cow clogs so they stick to my feet and I stop sounding like I'm walking in wooden blocks (which I actually am but I don't want to sound like it.). C'est la vie, mes amis.
--Barbara
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