When I was playing with the Bitties three weeks ago, Secondborn sent me home with a boxed set of the first four Harry Potter books in paperback, because she is gradually replacing them with hardcover copies. J.K. Rowling has my undying gratitude, as she almost single-handedly turned LittleBit into a reader. We’ve listened to HP audiobooks from the library, and LittleBit has read each of the books at least once. I’ve seen the first two movies.
But I had never actually sat down and read the books. I’ll wait while you pick yourselves up off the floor.
I finished Sorcerer's Stone the following Friday after work and Chamber of Secrets on Saturday and Prisoner of Azkaban late Sunday morning. And I read Goblet of Fire on Monday and Tuesday. One of my attorneys finished Order of the Phoenix on Tuesday and brought it to work for me on Wednesday. I finished it Friday night and will take it back today and bring home his copy of Half-Blood Prince.
Packing forgotten over that weekend. Knitting set aside. I now understand why Melanie gave us a one-week hiatus on MS3, which is languishing.
Where I am in the Ravelry queue as of dark-thirty this morning:
950 people are ahead of [me] in line.
16390 people are behind [me] in line.
Several of you have asked about my toes. Mr. Sulfa did a yeoman job and has hung up his superhero cape.
I passed on church a week ago yesterday, in part because I couldn’t figure out what to wear that didn’t scream “she’s done something painful again”. And in part because the surgical shoes, while very comfortable, were hard for me to walk in. They seemed to promote a gait that wass stiff-legged and slow. Not a bad thing in itself but not useful in a crowded hallway between classes. And then there are all those Primary children ducking in and out among the taller folks, and I didn’t want to have to explain umpteen times to anybody who didn’t know that I had had surgery the preceding Monday.
I have the best possible friends in this ward, very loving and truly Christian. And I was at that prickly stage of convalescence where I wasn’t exactly sick and not quite well, and I didn’t really need anything, and I didn’t want to be a bother, and I really preferred to sit unnoticed in a corner in the back somewhere because the smallest kindness was apt to make me cry.
I saw Dr. Gorgeous on Thursday. He pronounced my toes beautiful and perfect. They are healing exactly as they should. And what I am to do now, is to give them fresh air and sunshine, as much as possible. I told him that one of my medicines warns me about sun exposure. His solution?
“Just hang your toes out the window.”
When I went to church yesterday, I was greeted by several people who asked after my feet. So there was obviously some sort of announcement made last Sunday, and my lovely Relief Society president dropped by after church that day with a hug and the flowers that had graced the table during the lesson [it’s not a proper RS lesson if there’s not a tablecloth and a centerpiece; how the brethren manage in their priesthood quorums, I’m sure I don’t know] because she was there at 12:20, and church lets out at noon.
Today I have the consultation to determine what sort of sleep study I’ll be having, and when. This doctor has more alphabet soup after her name than Campbell’s! And the questionnaire was twelve full pages. I also have a bureaucracy that I need to deal with, either before the appointment or before heading in to the office. But more about that later this week.
My block for Miner Blanket Project is almost half done. I’m writing it up as I go, and I loved working on it in church yesterday. And now I'm going to curl up on the couch and work on it some more.
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!