When I walked through the backyard this morning, my feet were wet with dew, of all things. Goodness me, that doesn't happen often. The mild, moist weather is over, for now; forecasts predict highs in the 90s. I was hoping the low 80s would last through my mother's visit, because while the altitude alone might subdue her, blistering heat will flatten her.
Last night the neighborhood bookgroup minus one assembled at Scarf's to work on a baby gift for the absent one. I have decided that this is a good concept and I am going to repeat it for other babies whom (or whose parents) I know better. So what I worked on is a draft. Possibly it's a draft of itself, because it didn't turn out as well as I hoped, but since I doubt I'll have time to redo it before Final Assembly next week, I think it's just a draft for other babies. I'm being obscure because one recipient reads this. Hi Haitch!
Yesterday morning as we couldn't get out of bed, RDC offered me the car. What happened to that person who was never late to work? I think she went away with the person who worked downtown. The car made me less late, and I seized the carton of styrofoam beads that's got fuller and fuller since December and hied myself to work. During the day Kal told me that her bike had arrived--it was shipped to the office--and I offered to bring it home in Cassidy since she doesn't have a hatchback. So except for the bit at the end of the day when I moved the carton from the hatch to the front seat and lost a score of evil popcorn bits to the wind, I was An Efficient Car User.
With the bike in its box in the back and the carton in the front, I drove to the nearest UPS store that takes back styrofoam. That carton has been in the sunroom making me feel guilty for months. I hate that shit. And now it's gone. Wheee!
At home, I worked on my other Secret Project, which is only secret until I get after pictures, and it's been on the to-do list for months so it's really not secret, and now it's almost done, which will be Just in Time. Kal walked over (to admire the SP) before we went to Scarf's and afterward I drove her and the bike home, and how tidy is that?
Her cat was intrigued with the box. Nearly bike-long and -high but not very deep, the box had "access holes," which is what they're calling those four-finger-width holes in boxes spaced exactly to place your hands for carrying, instead of "handles," because if a "handle" tears and the box drops, the box company can be sued, whereas if an "access hole" tears, what were you doing using it as a handle? Or something. The cat sniffed at the holes, which might have smelled like Minnesota or at least like Other, and the box swayed on its long depth. We lay it flat on the floor, because no one wants to wake up at three in the morning to a bike in a box falling to sprain a kitty's tail.
Doing the SP has got me through a lot of Brothers Karamazov in audio. RDC is now listening to Surely You're Joking, Mr. Feynman! and I should listen to more non-fiction myself. Though that I read in high school.