The Day Between

Today is the day between Mom's birthday and mine.  In a perfect world we'd be going to Huhot for lunch today, she'd buy mine and I'd buy hers and we'd get dessert too because it's our birthdays.  But it's not a perfect world, she's dead and I'm going to TT's wedding later.  Ah well, can't have everything.

The tenant is all moved out and was back to clean and take out the last few incidentals when I left for knitting yesterday.  She came over to tell Durwood last night that "I didn't realize that the oven was self-cleaning and the fumes are driving me out; I'll be back tomorrow."  Does that mean she didn't clean the oven all 17 months she lived there?!?  Did she toss in some oven cleaner and then turn it on to Clean?!?  Way to poison yourself, Donna.  She really did come from the backwoods of Up Nort'.  She told me when her sink was stopped up a couple weeks ago that she'd never had a garbage disposal, she'd just tossed her food garbage out the back door--and she seldom locked her back door or any door here.  I pleaded with her to lock her doors but she didn't.  Now, we don't live in a ghetto and there aren't roving bands of house breakers (yet) but it isn't smart to invite invasion.  At least lock up when you sleep or leave!  Sheesh.  I need to go over as soon as I've posted this and deal with the paint on the wall behind the stove.  Shouldn't take me long.

Mrs. Boss slid into the store a nanosecond before 2 o'clock yesterday afternoon to take over.  Three or four callers and customers were unpleasantly surprised to hear or see me.  I don't think because they dislike me but they were expecting her and got me.  Evidently not a good trade in their minds.  Honestly, the questions they needed answered could only be answered by her so my feelings weren't hurt.

I was SO glad to have knitting to go to last night.  Most of them read this so I didn't have to trot out my tale of woe, well, not the whole thing anyway and I got a lot of "poor baby's" that made me feel better.

Okay, you guys, you have to watch/listen to this YouTube video.  My writer/knitter pal Rachael Herron linked to it in her blog post the other day, I clicked on it, and can't get this song out of my head.  So much so that I bought the mp3 of the whole album to put on my Kindle.  And I don't buy music.

August 31--Johannes Vermeer, A Maid Asleep.  It was dark in the gallery.  A single light burned at the far end where her favorite painting hung.  Jean felt a kinship with the young woman dozing in the frame.  Most of Jean's days were spent waiting.  Waiting for the mail and then waiting for Doctor Perkins' secretary to sort it and tell her in excruciating detail what to do with each and every scrap of it.  She waited for Security to unlock the door down to the conservation labs because evidently she couldn't be trusted with a key.  She felt invisible, no one looked up to smile or thank her when she came in with the mail and when she walked around with the cart to deliver packages they were always more interested in the boxes than in thanking her for delivering them.  The only thing she was sure of was that she would lose her job if she took a nap like the Dutch girl in the frame in Gallery 7B.  No one paid attention to that little dark painting.  She should take it home.  Just for the weekend.

I slept until 7:45 (yay!) and now I need to grab something to eat, then get my tail moving so I can finish my paint job before time to go to TT's wedding. Exit, stage right.
--Barbara