My friend’s friend, who is a landlord himself and lives just a few blocks from the duplex, came over on Saturday afternoon to hook up my gas fireplace. We soon discovered [from the manual] that we needed an external regulator, supposedly to fit between the fireplace and the hose coming out of the wall. Said regulator does not come with the fireplace; I’m guessing that ensures it is installed and tested by a plumber and not a savvy DIY’er.
I dialed my friend, and they discussed the situation and decided that we really did need to call in a pro. [Hence his comment to her, and the title of this post.] After he left, I took Middlest home, then came back here and ate some dinner and drove to the bookstore to browse a little. They were out of the Harlot’s new book but had Mason Dixon 2, which I sat down and devoured.
I was absolutely amazed to run into one of the Fort Worth poets I hung out with, ten years ago. She was there for open mic poetry and invited me to join them. I did give her my phone number but declined to give her my email address. She’s a good woman and an amazing poet, and it was nice to see her, and I don’t want to get sucked back into that world.
On the one hand, it would be nice to sit down with them and see what everybody has been up to for the last nine years or so. On the other, I have written exactly two poems in the past six years, so I don’t have much to share that would interest them. [It’s not like any of them could log onto Ravelry and peruse my gallery of finished objects.] My life is calm, peaceful, and happy. I’d like to keep it that way.
I have great memories of the writing workshops we did, and going dancing with them, but when I wrote and performed with them it was a difficult and unhappy time in my life. And I would just as soon not relive it. It’s like the folks who live in Europe who cannot abide peanut butter, because the US sent them tons of it after World War II. Or the difficulty that most of my girls have eating oatmeal, because we ate so much of it when their father was in school. It’s not that there is anything wrong with the peanut butter, the oatmeal, or the poets; it’s the memories they stir up.
OK, happier stuff. I think I’ve mentioned that I’ve turned the heel on Eleanora and am galloping down the foot. I have the pattern memorized, so I was able to take it for church knitting on Sunday. I just tried it on, and I think I will need fewer than the 18 repeats the pattern specifies for the foot. It fits like a champ!
Back to the furnace for a moment. My friend has since done beaucoups of research on gas fireplaces, safety, etc., and apparently hooking this up is something we can do ourselves. They tried to do it Monday, but I had chairs in the way, so they couldn’t move the fireplace out far enough to check on the doomaframmis and the gazornablatt. And the other technical bits.
Speaking of technical bits, I’ve had several emails telling me that the new commenting format isn’t working for y’all. So I’ve switched it back.
Our Bosses Day breakfast went well. We do have some amazing cooks in our office. Everybody pretty much grazed all day. At the end of the day, I brought home the last three or four of my muffins, and I also liberated half a sandwich bag of whole strawberries, which I enjoyed one by one on the drive home.
The Relief Society meeting last night was very poorly attended, but beautifully planned and executed. The dozen or so of us who showed up had a spiritual feast and white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. It truly doesn’t get any better than that in my world!
And now if you will all excuse me, it’s time to get ready for work. I have no idea what I want to wear today, only that it needs to be both modest and memorable. Maybe this is a day for the kimono? It holds up well over the course of a workday. Am hoping for another warm, relaxed conversation with Trainman. I realized when I was driving home from the station on Monday night that part of what works is that we both speak very quietly, so as not to disturb our fellow commuters. It is rather like pillow talk at the end of the day, without the pillow. Very soothing.
My visiting teacher is coming over tonight, huzzah! I don’t know if she will be able to bring her companion along, but yea or nay it is another blessing to anticipate.
- 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!