Another Perfect Autumn Day

It's gorgeous today and it can stay this way for the next, oh, three weeks so that every day of our vacation is just like it and the driving's easy.  Arrange that, will you?

Well, I got less done yesterday than I meant to but I ended the day feeling like I'd been at a trot all day anyway.  I did get our itinerary all typed onto one page with motel addresses, phone numbers, and confirmation numbers all recorded so it'll be easy to find them when we're driving.  I got the laundry folded but didn't sort out what needs packing... but it's done and folded, it's a step, right?  The other day I made a few doodads for hostess gifts along the way.  I figure we'll take them out for a meal but a "something" is nice too, don't you think?  I got fresh sheets on the bed and I even put the wool electric blanket (ugh) on the bed and plugged in Durwood's side.  (god, it's just too nice and tooooooo early to be thinking of woolen blankets much less electric ones, but he gets cold in the night.  I like to sleep with the window open until snowflakes fly in.  It's a good thing he's got another bed to retire to when it's too cold in here for him.)  I got a better handle on what knitting I want to take and even found what I think might be the right bag for it.  (don't roll your eyes, that's important)  And I borrowed a half-dozen audiobook library books and slammed them into my iPod (oh, that's what took up my day *head, slap*) so I'll have stories to listen to although if this year's anything like last year I'll only listen while I'm driving and Durwood's napping so I'll be scrambling to finish listening before they need returning, but I'll have my laptop along so I can get more.  *nods confidently*

September 29--Everett Shinn, Spanish Music Hall.  The audience was never quiet during their act.  Rodolpho looked at Juliana with such blatant lust even the most obtuse audience member felt it.  As she danced his hands lingered, sliding across her hip or down his own thigh, audience women sighed.  When she paused with her back to him, not touching him, the men shuffled their feet as if to inch nearer to her sensuous charms.  They danced the oldest story of love and loss and rediscovery.  When Rodolpho strummed his guitar more than one woman felt every note deep in her center.  No one but their manager knew that their names were Oscar and Mabel, that he couldn't dance or play guitar.  His only talent was his haughty look and that narrow-hipped strut, but Mabel could dance like an angel.  She carried the act. 

And now I really am going to go dig up a suitcase, or maybe I'll pick out what I want to pack, fold it onto the bed, and then get a suitcase so it'll fit.  Yeah, that's a good idea, I'll do that.  Talk to you tomorrow.
--Barbara