Zoom!

That was me yesterday.  I left home to go knit and gab at Skully's at around 9:30 and didn't get home until 2:30.  The day really got away from me.  First I stopped at the bank to cash my paycheck (YAY!) then I saw this column of icicles glittering in the sunlight so I drove back through the bank drive-up to try to take a picture without the sun burning a hole in my retina.  I kind of managed.  Then on to Skully's to knit and talk for a couple hours.  (anybody know of a cheap or free local "adventure" we can have?  she won't walk around outside until the ice goes since she's still sore from falling on the street outside my house last month so no geocaching which was my idea)  After leaving there I stopped at DS & DIL1's to feed my mustard greens stems to the chickens.  I love the sound they make when they see that I've got greens for them, it's kind of like a purr but more chicken-y.  After that I cruised TJ Maxx to find a new wallet (god, they're not cheap, I wanted to buy a wallet not adopt a kid) and look at all the clearance shelves.  I found an "as is" wallet but not much else.  I dropped off the preemie and he-man chemo hats at St. Mary's, swung by the birdseed store for a bag of safflower seeds (cardinals like those and sparrows don't), and made a stop at Jackson Elementary to drop off the pair of Packers mittens VJ made so if some kid forgets or loses their mittens there's an extra pair.  It was very different at the school.  The door's locked and there's an intercom and, it turns out, closed circuit cams on all entrances so I had to wait until school let out to go in.  It's good to see but sad too that they've had to institute and keep up such measures.  (what is WRONG with people?)  The school secretary recognized me and remembered DD being a student secretary in her years there.  I got home to glue the "as is" separated flap of the wallet, pack up a couple things to mail off today, dump the 10-year old receipts from the 2003 accordion file to use for 2013 (yes, I'll be shredding them at work today), and pack the nativity set up now that the kings arrived safely to look at the baby Jesus.  Oh, speaking of babies, I got to drop off the knitted baby hats at the baby department of the hospital but there wasn't one baby in there for me to see (I didn't figure they'd let me play with 'em).  Seems they spend all their time with the moms and dads now.  They didn't let me have mine 'til we went home unless they were hungry or I pleaded.  Times change.  Today's Photo a Day theme is "paper" so here's the daily newspaper that lands on our porch before sunrise every day.  I read most of it except for the green and gold parts since I don't care a fig about the Pack.  Okay, I do read the headlines so that I don't sound like a complete idiot but that's it.  I figure that Durwood and I are real dinosaurs since we actually read the paper each day for our news instead of relying on news readers, soundbites, or tweets (do they tweet the news?  I don't know, whatever).

January 9--John Singer Sargent, The Wyndham Sisters: Lady Elcho, Mrs. Adeane, and Mrs. Tennant.  That dress looks like a night dress, Deanie, you can't wear it.  You don't get to say what I can and can't wear, Lydie, I'm a married woman so butt out.  Deanie, Lydie, stop arguing, you're always arguing and I can't stand it.  Oh, Cissy, don't cry.  You know we hate it when you cry.  We'll be good, we promise.  Right, Lydie?  That's right, Deanie, we promise.  Turn around, both of you, you've got your fingers crossed, I can tell.  The three women's voices never ceased and the painter thought he'd go mad before he finished the commission.  The only way he kept his head was to draw reams of sketches at night, each one with the Willowby sisters good and dead.  Each morning he fed the pages into the fire.

Sorry for the no quotes, I got rolling and just didn't.  It's a shitty first draft, deal.  It's supposed to be almost 40 degrees right now.  All the snow'll melt and then I won't be able to snowshoe on Saturday or Sunday if I can talk KW into it.  Damn.
--Barbara Sue