PLSTCMD

Seen on the back of a Porsche Carrera as I was to-ing or fro-ing the other day. Cracked me up.

Had a blast teaching the activity day girls (ages 10 and 11, just before they graduate to Young Women) how to sign the first verse and chorus of “I Am a Child of God.”

Finished the little purple booties the other night and cast on something between a cowl and an infinity scarf using, mostly, 25 year old yarn. Ended up with approximately one foot of purple yarn, which went into my “give it to Grace’s art teacher friend” bag.

When the scarf/cowl is done, I’ll get back to creating baby sock inventory for future fruitful-and-multiply occasions.

Work has gone very well this week. I feel like me again. It’s only taken four months of learning curve. My desk is, once more, a thing of beauty. I had a mostly-mindless, extremely repetitive task that needed to be performed on every blessed one of our 40+ cases. And I did it in roughly two hours. Maybe less.

Beloved has been unpacking box after box of the kitchen stuff he’d been having me stack in our living room. We’ve had all kinds of rain the last several days, and the lake levels are pretty much where they should be, and I think the drought is officially over. It’s been too wet for him to work in the garden, and he’s not the kind of guy who can just sit around and twiddle his thumbs. So he’s been doing inside stuff, instead.

Tomorrow he sees the oncologist, and we get the results of last week’s CT scan.

I have been dragging him not quite kicking and screaming into the digital age. I set up one of our accounts for online payments before leaving for work this morning. I may never get him fully converted to paying by debit card. We will be ordering checks for our joint account, which makes me twitch almost as much as paying by debit card does to him.

I came home to chicken soup (entirely from scratch, including the noodles) and cornbread. He is having great fun seasoning my cast iron skillet, which I bought under Brother Sushi’s supervision three or four years ago. He asked how often I had used it.

“Two or three times.”

“A week?”

“Ever.”

I love it that I can reduce him to stunned silence with a word.

My hands want to knit. My brain wants to play AARP’s Mahjongg Dimensions. Or Mahjongg Dementia, as I’ve been known to call it. And my eyelids want to go to sleep.

This could get interesting.