We’ve had a week of those clear pale blue late summer days with scarce clouds, no breeze and the kind of warm temperatures that feel so good on your back and shoulders without making you break a sweat. Hot-air balloon weather. Apple cider weather. The leaves haven’t started turning yet, much less falling, so there are no piles to shuff through. The neighbor cat curls up on the sunny asphalt in the middle of our street where, thankfully, few cars come.
It’s a lovely, long, alone evening for me: Anders still in Italy and both the kids away at overnight parties with friends. A rare dilemma of what to do with myself: call a friend? go out to a movie? or curl up on the couch with my book. I’ll let you guess which one I chose.
My decision about the US trip was made for me when I realized that if I went the week before Thanksgiving week, I would have to move our own Thanksgiving celebration here to either November 16 (too early) or December 6 (too late) so it’s booked now and I will have a week of vacation with my mom at my sister’s new place in Connecticut, and then a week of work in the Boston office.
It bummed me out a little to realize, however, that I will be missing both our annual AWC wreathmaking workshop and the holiday cookie exchange. I have been participating in the first and organizing the second for over 12 years. Ah well, I’ll just have to do extra cookie baking this year to make up for it. Hey! Maybe I can get my sister, who is a champion Christmas cookie baker, to make some of her excellent cookies, to take home with me! Yeah, that’s it. That’s the ticket!
Does anyone even remember what that line is from or am I the only old fogey around here? 😀
Karin sent me photos via SMS today of the earrings she wants… they were photos of the ears of one of her girlfriends, though at first I thought they were HER ears. 2 holes on one side and THREE on the other PLUS another one at the top. Urk. I had kinda been hoping that she might choose to be third generation virgin lobes (neither my mom nor I ever bothered), but apparently that is not to be. She is mad at me because she assumed I was going to pay for her ear-piercing. “Nuh uh,” I said, “What made you think that?”
“You said I couldn’t get them pierced until I was 15,” she declared.
“That’s correct,” I answered, “But I never said I would pay for them when you DID turn 15.”
Grump, grumble, stomp stomp stomp.
I really hope I can talk her out of putting SIX holes in her ears at once. I guess I should just be happy that she doesn’t want a nose ring or one of those awful giant ear hole-makers or something equally anti disestablishment. Heh.