- 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!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
And they’re not kidding! This shop is next door to the church bookstore and just about a Heisman trophy winner stone’s throw from the temple.
Well, I have made significant progress in the search for my Social Security card. I found my passport, and I found my birth certificate, both almost exactly where I expected to find them. I have also shredded almost half a box [the kind that copy paper comes in] of old business records. I know several places where my Social Security card is not. And when I find the box that has the smallish organizer that I used when I was first doing MK, I will find my Social Security card.
[Two hours later.] Found my SS card. In the organizer. In my big suitcase. As Mom would have said, “It’s always in the last place you look.”
The whole evening was a series of small and seemingly unrelated events that in retrospect, were tiny cogs fitting neatly together. A call from Firstborn, needing some information. A call to somebody who had that information. A quiet productive evening at home. Objects found. Marbles lost. I fell into bed a little before midnight, more on the principle of the thing than because I was sleepy. Took me forever to doze off, and I kept waking up. I should have just sat up, grabbed my knitting, and listened to the audiobook until I was drowsy.
I just have to survive work until 12:15, probably fueling the morning on Cherry Coke, and scoot on out the door toward church and home by way of the DMV, with a side trip to give Fourthborn her stocking, then home to slice cheese into bite-size servings and grab my serving trays. Am meeting my cohorts at church at 4:00 to set up the last details.
I am also, suddenly, working on a stealth project. You praying types, please pray that wisdom does a mighty tap-dance on my head, because I will be needing every scrap of inspiration I can beg borrow, or wheedle.
In the meantime, just know that I will not be sitting here in park, no matter how still and quiet I may look.