1. Six old audiobooks on cassette:
The Best of the Original Chicken Soup for the Soul, read by the authors
Simple Abundance: Living by Your Own Lights, read by the author
The 7 Habits of Highly Effective Families, read by the author
Walden, *not* read by the author, but by Michael O'Keefe who used to be married to Bonnie Raitt who is one of my favorite singers. He is now a Zen priest; talk about Something to Talk About !!!
The Screwtape Letters, read by John Cleese (woohoo!!!)
2. The audiocassette tapes I made for mallwalking, back when I was getting my AAS in interpreting for the deaf. Can my Walkman be far behind?
3. A polo ball.
4. A reason to put GPS in my car, even though I have a perfectly marvelous sense of direction: John Cleese is one of the options on TomTom. [The things you learn on Wikipedia!]
5. The Godiva card that Firstborn and her hubby gave me for Mother's Day *last year*, which is still good, but I will need to drive to the Galleria to spend it. I think there is a field trip in my immediate future, perhaps one night after work next week, assuming that my toes will be up to it.
Where I am in the Ravelry queue as of early Saturday evening:
2573 people are ahead of [me] in line.
12503 people are behind [me] in line.
Here's a shot of MS3. Yes, I know everybody else started weeks ago; everybody else didn’t just have a new grandbaby. This puts me at the end of Clue 1. So all those folks who think that I have Not-Clue-1? Guess again. [I wonder if it’s possible to notarize a stole?]
Kudos to Jo for mentioning me by name in her blog. Jo, every time that happens, my readership jumps. Bless you for all the new friends I’m making! Your Swallowtail is looking good, sister!
I have 10 boxes packed, numbered, labeled within an inch of their lives, and entered on an Excel spreadsheet, in case I need the contents between now and moving day. I scored four more empty boxes while out and about yesterday and hope to pick up more next Thursday night from the office supply store. And I have three of my kids scrounging boxes from their work, and another friend who has *scads* where she works and will start harvesting them for me.
LittleBit is going to be mighty surprised to come home and find so much of the house packed. But I strongly believe that faith without works is dead: if I expect Heaven to help me find a house within the next two months, then I think it behooveth me to pack so that move is as simple and easy as possible. It’s like that congregation which met to pray for a drought-breaking rain and was surprised when one little girl brought her umbrella to the meeting. I’m happiest when I have the faith of that little girl, do what I can to prepare for the outcome that I hope for, and give thanks when in the good time of the Almighty, I receive what Heaven thinks is best for me.
I do hope that we can get into our new home early enough to plant a couple of fruit trees this fall; I’ve wanted to try espaliering because it’s so pretty, and the trees are more productive than when they grow up naturally.
I scored a rotisserie chicken marked down to $2.50 when I stopped for milk and a fresh bag of gingersnaps at dark-thirty last night. Said chicken bubbling away in the crockpot as we speak. They're much too salty to be eaten as is, but diluted with half a gallon of water and simmered for 24-48 hours, they make a wonderful stock that smells like heaven and doesn't make my ankles explode.
I have wondered if the waxing and waning of my ankles could be related to the state of my big toes. Wouldn't it be marvelous if by taking care of this small bit of housekeeping, I could go off the diuretic and maybe even my anti-inflammatory? I guess I’ll find out tomorrow.
I do try to keep a sense of proportion about this. We have a good brother who recently had a kidney transplant. He was back at church today, laughing and smiling. The other friend who was recently widowed and attends another ward in our building, was in the hall as I walked out to my car. He’s obviously unready to turn cartwheels of joy, but he was there today to worship and to learn. My two poor rebellious toes are nothing compared to what my friends have experienced. [And the discomfort is nothing like what I felt just before I had my gallbladder out, six years ago. Post-op was a waltz in the park, in comparison.] Still, for sand-in-my-oyster irritation, there is nothing like unhappy feet.
I am now going to put them up, pop on Disc 6 of Sense and Sensibility, and tackle Clue 2.
- 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!