We found places for two bookcases and two dressers yesterday. I temporarily transferred the clothing I hang to the IKEA armoire in my studio. I found my brown suede jacket and wore it with the only skirt whose whereabouts I know, to church, where my name was read in as the newest member of Beloved’s ward. Our friend the RS president has submitted my name for a calling.
No nap after church, but I finished a small project while Beloved tidied up one of his responsibilities as ward financial clerk. And I got some knitting time, some reading time, and some family time with two-thirds of his kids and his mom.
Beloved’s shredder has a new home, and kids picked up their dogs. The cat seems a little lost to have his nap buddy gone (the two Crickets would curl up in dog-Cricket's bed as if they were litter-mates).
I just woke up from a reasonably good night’s sleep. We seem to be solving the conundrum of elbows and knees and what to do when somebody rolls over. His restless legs (a byproduct of the chemo) no longer startle me awake. The souvenir aches and strains from Saturday’s move are pretty much resolved. I no longer squirt water up my nose with the hand-held shower. I know how he prefers the dishwasher to be loaded, and I know where the forks live.
Beloved is going to vacuum the floor in the studio, and I need to find the outlets so I’ll know where to put my sewing table, the bookcases, etc. But that is a project for another day. Right now I need to hop in the shower and hope that there is just enough mousse left to un-scary my hair for the workday ahead. I think the replacement canister is still in the cupboard at the duplex (I’ll find out tonight).
I have no idea what I want to wear to work today, but I know where my options are.
He hung one of our engagement pictures in the dining room last night. One is on my desk at work, and the third is atop the black bookcase, out in the hall (this is the bookcase that the children’s father found in or near a dumpster at our first apartment in Arlington 19 years ago, which we scrubbed thoroughly, and which has followed me through the 1-2-3-4-5-6 moves since then). The bookcase which stood in the hall outside the loo at the duplex, and contained my collection of cookbooks, inspiring Beloved’s respectful query as to why I had so many if I didn’t cook.
I have yet to cook, here, but I’ve helped. We are feeding the missionaries on Saturday. Depending on how tired Beloved and I are after his chemo pump comes off that morning, I am toying with the idea of making a big pan of lasagne (and wondering just how to adapt it to my new lactose-free world). Ah well, we will think of something.
This is the part where I step away from the computer and into the shower. Depending on my workflow today, I will see if I can leave work early or take all or part of tomorrow off, to finish up the move.
Girls just want to be done. Girls? just want to be done!
- 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!