Didn't Knit a Stitch...

...but I sure rocked my to-do list.  Yesterday was one of those days when I got a lot of little, putzy things done, like replacing the burned out bulbs in the bathroom (oh! light to brush my hair by) and setting up the new DVD player (it works!  pictures AND sound!).  I even got the right website set as Durwood's homepage on his new tablet/laptop.  (it was so easy, I was kind of embarrassed at my angst about it)  I took many trips up and down the basement stairs, each time carrying a small handful of stuff that needed stowing.  It would have been too easy to gather it all into a box or bag and carry all of it down in one trip, wouldn't it?  But then I wouldn't have gotten all that aerobic exercise.

On one trip I dug around and found a couple of Christmas-y door decorations.  Jingle bells!  Jingle bells are good.  (don't we have a jingle bell wreath?  wonder where that's hiding...  *taps lips with finger*)  No tree yet, maybe next weekend.

Yesterday was the day to take care of all that chicken we bought on Saturday afternoon.  I slapped all 10 drumsticks into the rotisserie basket and cut up the rest of the red potatoes with half an onion, a few sprigs of thyme from the pot on the patio (yes, it's still alive!), and a couple teaspoons of coconut oil wrapped in heavy foil to put on the grate below the twirling chicken.  Now all Durwood has to do is make a veg and carb (once the taters are gone) for suppers this week.  After supper we divvied up the 11# of Dolly Parton-sized boneless, skinless chicken breasts--3# got coarse ground for meat loaf or balls or some skillet something, and the rest Durwood will vacuum seal for the freezer.  Look at the size of those things!  That cookie tray is the next size up from the standard and I could barely fit them all on there without them touching.

December 7--Headhunters, 16*Tourist.  Gina followed him down the airplane's stairs out into the tropical sun.  He would have been hard to miss even if she hadn't been right behind him.  He wasn't very tall, maybe 5'10" on a good day, but his outfit made him stand out like a giant.  He wore the most amazing tropical shirt with vivid pink flamingos wading in electric turquoise waters shaded by acid green palm trees.  His slacks were the identical shade of pink as the birds, his shoes were woven straw.  They matched his hat.  He had on mirrored aviator sunglasses and wore his camera strap across his chest like a bandolier.  She might be tempted to make fun of his obvious tourist get-up but he was so happy and so friendly she couldn't help but smile at him.  They turned in opposite directions as they exited baggage claim, she went to get her rental car and he hailed a taxi.  When she entered the lobby of her resort an hour later there he was, introducing himself to everyone-guests and staff alike.  "Jack Dunbar," he said over and over, hand outstretched, a huge smile on his face.  She thought he was like the Welcome Wagon only in reverse.  She couldn't wait to see the rest of his travel wardrobe.  He was a walking, talking column, maybe a whole series of columns.  She itched to start taking notes.

It's Pearl Harbor Day.  Go hug a WWII vet.  Oh, heck, hug any vet you run across today.  Go ahead, it'll do you both a world of good.  Off to shower and do that work thing.
--Barbara