Misfits, Jeff and double portraits

 So, the excitement of the fireplace, and paying for it, home again and the stress of photographing the paperwork with a tablet camera which didn't work, changed and repeated for the phone one which did work, I finally submitted all the doings to the HOA.  

Then Misfits arrived, with driver Jeff, catching sight of me after he'd put the box on the step, promptly picking up the box again to put it inside the house. Kind man. 

That's how you get the dual picture of him taking the delivery shot, me indoors with the box.

The eggs are comped, because, very unusually, two were cracked in transit. So I chucked those out for squirrels, and sorted the rest.

Time for a chicken. It's so useful when you can't think what to have, if there's a roast chicken there.  And a lot of spaghetti, because I was shock, horror, out of pasta. 

The apples continue to be very good, and these aren't small. Maybe just surplus.

And, all this food but not much energy after a fairly stressful day, supper was a powerhouse sandwich.

Baby spinach toasted with several grated cheeses, here shown open, then folded over to eat. 

And  a good thing happened.  A few days ago, my iPod and Kindle both stopped connecting with WiFi. No changes made, other devices fine. I wondered if it was the signal or what. Couldn't borrow from the library on the Kindle or get email on the iPod, or send images. 

Then yesterday they both started working again. Maybe they'd just needed a rest so they'd quiet quit. 

But this is great, because I can resume borrowing from the library. Without the signal you're limited to what's already on the Kindle, and I also needed to move a couple of items from the tablet Kindle app which is very hard on the eyes, and now I can, yay.

This week is emotionally hard, those long memories that get you when you're not looking.

 March 6 my mother's birthday, the 129th, to be exact, though she only made it to early 60s. March 7th my brother's birthday,  my good friend in the family, died in combat at 20, when I was six, never forgotten. His death overshadowed my mom's birthdays after that.

I used to give my mom daffodils on her birthday, even as a little kid, putting my pocket money together and trotting off to the florist in the next street. 

Happy day everyone. Friday knitting group coming up, weather and roads permitting, endless heavy rain this week.

Birthdays, wine corks and washing machines

Some wonderful people are Sagittarians, not that we Sags believe in astrology, so let me shout out Piper, Diane, Mare, Tarang and Anthony, all celebrating this week!  Happy Birthday everyone, and many many more.  What good company.  I wish you all knew each other.  And I do thank all the great people who let me know they're donating to a food or rescue bank, and making it my birthday gift. I know they're all the sort of people who don't need to be asked, but it's lovely to feel I'm included!

Meanwhile, back on earth, before I even got the credit card statement for the washing machine replacement at my rental, my own machine here at the townhouse went the way of all metal.  Dangit, it pretended to go through the cycle, but was only phoning it in when it came to actually spinning and draining.

Sooooo, back to the people I now know by name, to see about another machine.  The good part is that I know who I'm dealing with now, that they did a good job, was it only two weeks ago, and that this time the space for the new washer is standard size, no going all over creation to find something to fit.

After I get my old Honda beater into the dealer tomorrow for a repair, which is probably, judging by the washing machine prices, going to astonish me.  Sigh.

I have to allow for a nice lady who's coming this week to pick out a piece of art, so I'd better wait a few days before I start emptying the walls, currently covered in art, and moving furniture to let the old washer come downstairs, round two corners, and the new one go up likewise.

Also today a not so good encounter at a local pretty upscale supermarket, where the employee I asked for directions to a product I was in search of, started to ridicule my request.  This happened one time before, different employee, and I read the riot act in writing to the manager, who humbly apologized, ran a staff meeting to remind folks of civility to customers, etc., and I eventually began to shop there again.  

This time I  wasn't so flustered, and met the ridicule with a steely glare and a repeat of my request in low, cold tones.  Whereupon the guy went red, his turn to be flustered and stammered, oh, sorry, sorry, didn't mean, uh, I mean..obviously having finally realized people get fired for this kind of  talk to women nowadays. And that I may be old and small and talk funny, but I can handle bigger men than he. And that he doesn't get to decide what's funny to me. So that store is off my list, and anyone who asks will hear why.

On the other hand, this time it didn't take a formal letter of complaint to elicit an apology.  So possibly the #MeToo wave is starting to wash over nonfamous men, too.  Let's hope.

Meanwhile, back to civilization, in the studio..several books on carving and whittling from the library, and I quickly realized that while I wasn't interested so much in what they suggested,  I'm still interested in some sort of carving adventure. 

And until I get my hands on some wood, I also realized, I have another carveable material to hand.  I've made stamps from wine corks, so I don't want to repeat that, but there are other possibilities.  

Since I can't drink my beloved red wine any more, having fingered it as the culprit in my ever increasing heartburn, dangit, why couldn't it have been oatmeal or whitefish or something, I may as well use up the corks anyway.

This will probably involve carving and painting, silly fun. And while I was waiting for the carving books, these slippers happened. 

What you make when you're waiting to make something.