I realized, once I was sitting in my car at the parking lot, that I did not have my security badge. I figured that I must have left it in my knitting bag, or on the couch. So when I walked into the office yesterday morning, I said to my backup, “I’m sorry, but I’m going to be a real pain today. My badge is at home.”
“No it isn’t,” she replied. “It’s right here on your desk.” And it was.
And in other senior news, Sunday was my sister’s golden wedding anniversary. They had a very quiet family celebration this weekend. Wish I could have been there for that, but I was watching my baby graduate.
[I will be a very, very old woman if I celebrate a golden anniversary in this lifetime. How old? Eating yogurt in Tibet with a face that looks like the map of Tibet old.]
Yesterday I had another possible match from the Churchboy Dating Service. As usual, somebody I know from the local bunch, but this time somebody who didn’t make me think, “Not only no…” So I sent him an email. And then something in his profile triggered a memory, so I checked my sent messages, and I had sent him one a couple of weeks ago, when he was using a different screen name with no picture. He didn’t respond to that one, so I’m guessing he won’t respond to this one, either. He seems like a genuinely nice guy, and I would like to know him better.
I’m not holding my breath.
Now this? This is encouraging. The article lists various myths that have grown up about race and the church, some of which I have always assumed were correct, none of which [I now learn] are doctrinal. I’ll be ordering this DVD and abating some of my ignorance. I’m moving into a ward that is more ethnically and culturally diverse than my present ward. And I’m moving into the heart of a large city, where I will have more opportunities to visit with people who see the world differently than I do. How exciting! [And how sad if I unintentionally misrepresent church history and church doctrine.]
I reserved my truck yesterday. There’s one just down the street. I’m figuring 8mpg [books are heavy; I have lots and lots and lots of books] plus their $.89 per mile. This will be my first time driving a diesel truck. Or paying for diesel fuel. Where is that spare arm, leg, and firstborn male child when I need one?
I packed almost the last box of stuff in my room last night. Sorted through the papers that had slid under the bed, the smallest batch in recent history, packed up another box from the bathroom, and went to bed relatively early. I have several small boxes lined up along the floor that are almost ready to be sealed up, and another handful of magazines and catalogues to go to the recycling bin.
I have one large box here in the dining room that I want to divvy up into smaller boxes, possibly before leaving for work. And I think the task du soir, after Knit Night, will be to pack up my desk.
And I am nearly done with the seventh repeat on the Flared Lace Smoke Ring. See?
I’m still making time for the important stuff.
- 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!