About Me

My photo
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!

Saturday, June 04, 2011

Oye. Squared. Maybe even cubed.

Two reports for my attorney (one of them eight pages, one of them six). Another report, last-minute of course and even more time-critical than the first two, for Attorney B. A lawsuit which came in, in the middle of the day, with the answer due on Monday. Assigned to us, because the secretary of the attorney who was assigning cases in the managing attorney’s absence, was in a rollover accident on her way to work. [She is, thankfully, not seriously hurt.]

Yet another in a string of days in which if I were still a drinking woman, you would find me under a table somewhere with an empty bottle and a serious case of the hiccups.

What to do? I joined the knitting group at Whirled Fibers on the way home, where on attempt number four I got Willow’s shawlette bound off. I grabbed yet another black bean burrito from Bueno on the drive to Arlington, and washed it down with a small IBC root beer. I hung out at Chop House Burgers until a friend got done with her massage and joined me. And we sat and talked as good friends do, and hugged good-bye.

There was a nice email waiting from the new guy, whose grace continues to impress and astound me. His soon-to-be daughter-in-law is rearranging the house to her satisfaction, with his consent. He gave me a date and time for the wedding and affirmed that an invitation would be winging its way shortly. And, depending upon schedules, he is going to try to have me over for dinner, so I can meet her before the “I do’s” start flying.

And by the time I went to bed, I had a recommendation for a shiatsu practitioner, in response to my request on Facebook. There is a single sister who is a licensed massage therapist, and one of my friends has a monthly booking. I am always happy to bless a fellow single. I can’t wait for it to be late enough that I can call her on a Saturday morning.

The comments from some of my guyfriends re: my Facebook query have been amusing, to say the least.

I need to figure out what I am making/buying for the combined ward activity that begins in two hours. It’s outside, and I am NotInTheMood to play outside, but I want to honor my commitment to bring something. So it will be another drive-by fooding.

Lorelai needs an oil change. My nails need attention. I am hoping for a massage sometime today, or a booking for early next week.

This day is looking gorgeous. The light outside, as observed through the window at the top of my door, is golden and lovely. I have a pad of graph paper in my bag, bought between Bueno and sawdust pie, suitable for designing patterns for small resin people, which reminds me that Chutzpah is still in the box in which she rode to church last Sunday [as part of my lesson]. I’ve already put three rows on the Summer Mystery Shawlette, and I think I will add a couple of more before I hit the shower. I no longer feel like Pretzel Woman. By the time I left the office last night, I felt like I’d been shoved in a tote sack and beaten with a baseball bat. This morning, I just feel normally tense. I can live with normally tense, but I have a plan to whittle that down to subnormally tense (?) in the near future.

Lest you be tempted to toss the word proactive at me, remember that I have sharp poky sticks, and I know how to use them.

No comments: