About Me

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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!

Friday, November 07, 2008

In Which Ms. Ravelled’s Jacket Has an Adventure

I was trying to figure out where my black leather jacket had wandered off to. It wasn’t in my living room. It wasn’t in the pile of clothing that commutes between my bed and a chair in my room. It wasn’t in Lorelai’s trunk. It wasn’t on the back of my chair at work.

I left a voicemail at Firstborn’s work, because I knew that Middlest is on a different sleep schedule than I, and she might not have been awake if I had called her as soon as I got to work. I was thinking that I might have left it on their couch before Middlest and I went to Knit Night on Tuesday.

I left a message with the lost and found desk at the TRE. [They would not have information for another day or so.] It wasn’t at the bookstore where we met for Knit Night.

That left the restaurant where I had dinner with Trainman on Monday night. I remember draping it over the chair when I got there. I was so relaxed by the good food and the excellent company, that I couldn’t remember if I put it back on when we left the restaurant. Or if I was wearing it when we hugged.

I might have been a little distracted.

So I waited all morning until the restaurant opened for lunch, and then I called them. Yes, they have my jacket. It is hanging [out] in the bar. My black leather jacket is officially a barfly! [I only hope it doesn’t smell like an ashtray. I don’t remember smelling any cigarettes when we dined on Monday night.]

I wonder if it met any nice Harris Tweed sports coats while it’s been there? Should I be looking for a litter of small leather goods to turn up on my doorstep in the next few weeks?

I will have to tell Trainman, next time I see him, that he is turning out to be a dangerous person with whom to dine.

OK, I have officially survived the opening gambit of the singles conference, which was a temple session just for us. My old bishop from way back when, is now stake president of the stake which is hosting the conference. There was a devotional just for us prior to the session, and he spoke, as did the temple president. I was able to get my question answered about having the temple work done for Brother Stilts.

Now I just need to work up my courage to ask his very anti-Mormon sister for permission, and for dates and places so I can have one of my sons or a mutual friend stand proxy for Brother Stilts. Who will not be obligated to accept the ordinances, but at least would have the option.

After our temple session [two, actually, there were enough who showed up that they had to split us up and run two sessions] we met at a neighboring chapel for an ice cream social. I was just sitting down with my sensibly small banana split, when the Good Brother boomed, “Put that down ratnow and give me a hug!” I had not seen him, or several other friends, since before the move.

I came home and had a mug of milk and a sliver of pie [it’s a long, long drive from that chapel to home, and I was hungry again] then stayed awake long enough to work on my budget for a few minutes. I woke a little before 7:00 this morning, feeling peaceful and refreshed.

Today I’m retrieving my jacket, getting my hair cut and my nails done, picking up the brake light for Lorelai so Trainman will stop nudging me [bless him]. We have a motivational speaker at 7:30 and the dance at 9:00. At Tan’s urging, I will call my doctor’s office about my foot. It may be time for a systemic fungicide, because the topical ones are just not cutting it. I am not putting my lovely handknitted socks on that foot until it is cootie-free!

Speaking of socks, I am about to sit down with Eleanora and add a few more rounds. But first I need to read something that Firstborn gave me the other night. I had a total brainf@rt and forgot that it was in my purse. Senioritis, wool fumes, pheromones and athletes foot have all played their part, but I still feel bad. She rarely asks me for anything, and this particular thing is important.

And then I think I will dash to the store for s’more-bits. It is deliciously cool in my house, and I would like to properly christen my new fireplace.

Tonight I will be dancing with [old, toothless and possibly mangy] wolves.

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