Never a dull moment, chez Ravelled.

Well, I figured out how to copy text from a message but not how to paste it here. And it's a long story. You might want to take a comfort break and make sure that you don't have a mouthful of milk before you read any farther.

OK. Ready?

I had to break into my own house last night. It would have made a great Youtube video. I took a pillow case filled with whites and a measuring cup of water and the night's serving of cat food into the garage so I could kill three birds with one stone: run a load of laundry, feed the cat, and not let him into the house.

Poured his water. Refilled his kibbles. Started the washer. Turned the handle to the kitchen door. Which, for the first time in a year and a half, I had not carefully unlocked first. Realized my plight.

Tried to force the door. I am (now) pleased to report that the lock held. Looked about for something with which to break the window, after first making sure that I would be able to reach the deadbolt on the other side. Spied a monkey wrench. Started banging on the glass. Made a lot of noise but no progress. That glass might be bullet-proof. Or possibly resurrected.

So I walked out the back door into the back yard and cased the joint. To my delight, the window by the kitchen table looked low enough that if I could get it open and extract one of the chairs, I would be able to stand on the chair and go in through the window.

Opening the window was easy. (I will fix that this weekend.) Pushing a table piled high with *stuff* forward enough to wrangle the chair out? Not so much. No leverage. It must have taken me ten minutes. Maybe more. And then another five to get my hot, sweaty, and thoroughly uncooperative legs through the window. Partly because by this point I was laughing so hard.

Once in, I unlocked the door, walked back outside to the window, carried the chair inside, and retrieved the measuring cup and container with the leftover kibbles from the garage. The cat had gotten so spooked by my banging on the window that he was sitting under the bois d'arc tree giving me the fish eye.

As well he might.

I looked at the clock in my bedroom and decided that there was probably time to go find the Trader Joe's in Plano before they closed. A little free trade chocolate seemed like just the ticket to salve my dignity. I got there 20 minutes after they closed, but now I know where they are. And I will probably go back there tonight after work.

I also found the Sprouts in Plano, which may be a little bit closer than the one in Murphy. And some other places I want to check out.

So I got an adventure. Some exercise. A nice drive. New restaurants to try. A better grasp of local geography. An ice cream cone on the drive home. And enormous fun with Olive the Recorder once I got back.

This lesson is replete with eighth notes and dotted quarter notes. I am getting to play scraps of folk songs and simple dances. Some of which are just lovely. I'm a long way from being able to play a Telemann recorder concerto. And I miss noodling around with the children's songbook from church, or my hymnal. But this very basic stuff feels like the right thing to do.

Time for me to go get the clean clothing out of the dryer. After making sure the door is thoroughly unlocked. *And* I have my keys. And my phone.

Belt and suspenders, as SemperFi would say.