Just a Little Achy

Ice really works.  Amazing how they tell you that all the time, in all those first aid classes you take (every 2 years to keep my certification up), the mnemonic (R.I.C.E.=Rest, Ice, Compression, Elevation) for sprains that gets drilled into your head, and then you discover that putting ice on your owie really helps the hurt be much less.  Amazing.

Man, is it dreary today, gray and drizzly, but it's nowhere near as hot as it was earlier in the week so I guess this is an adequate trade-off.  We're skipping the Farmer's Market today (boo!) because we're out of almost all the veggies so Durwood's planning a jaunt to Woodman's later to stock up and he's willing to forgo $1 each hydroponic tomatoes for thrift.  I'm planning to closet myself in the sewing studio to divy out the barrel of thread I have from Mom with DD because she's sewing costumes for the Lexington Children's Theater summer musical and can use it, and then whip up a valance for DS & DIL1's kitchen window.  I need to do it all today because I'm packing up my dive gear later and going off diving with Mrs. Boss tomorrow, come hell or high water.  We were talking when she was in the store the other day and discovered we both really want to go diving so we are, even if nobody else signs up to go, we're going and we're doing 2 dives.  She's bringing subs to share and I've got grapes.  We'll be fine.  And we're meeting at the dive site so I'll have a nice long drive up all by myself and then drive home with all the windows open and the radio blaring so I stay awake.  Good plan.

June 29--Iran, Spouted Jar.  It must have taken a steady hand to paint lines that clean.  Leah turned the ancient jar in the light.  The red ocher paint hadn't faded much over the nearly three thousand years since it was made.  The door of the lab was flung open, crashing into the file cabinet.  She jumped and bobbled the jar, nearly dropping it.  "Dammit, Jacob," she said without turning around, "do you have to come in like devils are on your tail?"  "I'm sorry, the knob seemed to squirt out of my hand."  At the sound of the unfamiliar voice she set the jar down and turned to face him.  "You're not Jacob," she said.  He stepped forward, hand outstretched.  "No, I'm not Jacob, I'm Dr. Grey Weatherly, the new assistant director and I'm your..."  "New boss," Leah finished for him.

Well, that's awkward.  But there's already sexual tension in the room, feel it?  No?  Well, trust me, there is.  I'm off to have some yogurt and granola for breakfast and then go play with fabric and thread.  Then pack my dive gear.  Yippee!

--Barbara