@ Firstborn: thank you for your kind offer to find me some random guy to kiss. You wouldn’t have kissed anybody I picked out for you when you were a teenager. What makes you think I would kiss anybody you picked out for me, now that I’m a middleager? Besides which, it’s way more fun to find my own random guys to kiss, even if they are scarce as hen’s teeth. As I have said more than once, at my age the odds aren’t good, and the goods are definitely odd.
Trainman really likes his nickname. I told him that everybody gets a nickname, that the Near-Fiancé Experience was referred to as Brother Lucid until he demonstrated that he was better named the Brother Formerly Known as Lucid. I haven’t told him about Brother Tightly Wound. BestFriend and a couple of my daughters know exactly who that is, and how well it describes him [Firsborn’s current visiting teacher was once briefly, or maybe nearly, engaged to him].
When I merged onto the freeway from the station tonight, I wasn’t able to get over into my usual lane. [But I was going in the right direction.] Which meant that I was more or less forced to exit at 8th Avenue, which not-coincidentally leads straight to the chapel, and I did have something to add to the visiting teaching report from last week.
I also learned, from a comment by one of the brethren who was trying to figure out what I had done to the computer at church to make it so mad that it wouldn’t print my report, that the Silver Fox is 6’5”. Which is way too tall. Not that I’m suggesting we do anything to shorten his legs, but no wonder I get nosebleeds when I speak to him. And here I thought it was just a case of the vapors...
Trainman has a date, weekend after next. I find that I am only the tiniest bit wistful at being his Sancha Panza, rather than his Dulcinea [besides which, I vaguely remember how Dulcinea earned her living, and I don’t think that’s a good career choice for a grandmother].
I finished turning both heels on the Mean Green Jellybeans while feeling the living room get cooler. [I am definitely under the influence of yarn fumes.] I figure that the fireplace will kick on, just as I go to bed. It’s supposed to be 20°F overnight. And I am too frugal to kick the fireplace up a notch. The bed itself is toasty-warm, and I am heading there directly. But first I need to update my notes for the socks, before I arm-wrestle with the Sandman; otherwise I will look at those socks in the morning and wonder “How on earth did I manage that?”
[To be finished when I wake up.] Which I now am. Both awake, and up. Also clean and foofed and ready to head out the door.
As I was walking from the train to the bus yesterday morning, I overheard two women talking about “the second volume” and “the third volume”, and as one split off to cross the street and the other headed to the bus with me, I asked,“Twilight?” She nodded and grinned.
You can have Edward. I’d like Edward’s dad. He is an excellent example of how a righteous patriarch leads his family and his tribe.
I found that link through Laura Brotherson’s column; I subscribe to her newsletter, because next time around, I want to get it right. I also printed that column off and gave it to Trainman, because if there is a next time around for him, I also want him to get it right.
Grabbing my knitting, my breakfast, and my remaining marbles; heading out the door.
- 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!