I’ve been up on my ladder a lot lately (usually with cell phone in pocket, should I wipe out), trying multiple times to fix my new motion-detector floodlight (no luck) and one of my new security cameras (success). I also finally got around to repairing the broken leg on a comfy chair that threatened to topple to the floor anyone foolish enough to sit in it.
The old wood was exceptionally hard, and each time I drilled into it the bit got so hot that smoke rose out of the holes and suffused the room with a campfire scent. Eek. Not sure how long my handiwork will last but it seems stable for the time being, as long as the sitter doesn’t shift their weight or breathe or anything. This chair was the one possession that my beloved Grannie left me in her will in 1989.
I’ve never understood why she chose this particular item (no intrinsic or sentimental value), but I treasure it. At the time, Small even got it re-covered for me. Now I have to figure out how to haul it back upstairs from the basement.
It seems I seldom leave my house these days but the other day, inspired by a friend, I got out for a stroll around the perimeter of the Albany Bulb just as the fog lifted and the sun appeared over the bay and San Francisco.
Back in my champagne era (BCE), it might have been wise for me to invest in the Piper Sonoma company. (The trouble with investing, alas, is that it requires decent-sized piles of money.) These days, it’s AirBnB that should get my imaginary dollars (in addition to my real ones). Here are my reservations for the rest of this year (with identifying details removed for security purposes).
Inspired by Molly to try Google spreadsheets, I just finished setting up one that tracks all the AirBnBs I’ve ever stayed in. Wayyyyyy too much time on my hands. Do you realize, or care, (I’m certain the answer is “no” to both) that by the end of 2021 I will have occupied twenty-four different Chico rentals (some more than once) in the three years since Eleni & Co. moved?
Dream: In front of an audience of 2,000, I was to conduct a much publicized interview with a teenaged Buddhist monk who was terrified of the prospect. I’d been so busy reassuring him, I’d neglected to prepare for the presentation. So there we were onstage and, as the curtain rose, I realized that I had no idea why I was there or what we were supposed to talk about, though I was supposed to be the one in charge of the situation. My mind went blank. With a comforting arm around the young, robed boy, I faced the expectant masses and just stared, silent, unable to speak or otherwise function.
Another dream that lingered when I woke up this morning: I met a nice elderly farm couple who kindly offered me a meal of fresh “walking-dead chicken” which, they said, was served nearly raw.
Here’s a selfie from yesterday. My hair’s truly gone white now.
And very becoming it is, too! I so much prefer the natural look to the dyed, painted, harsh artificial effects! Much more flattering, as one ages.
Oh — and Granny also left you a silver hand mirror and, I think, a choice of a needlepoint pillow??
I can help you carry the chair back up, if you can wait until the next time I am over!
Did you try the walking-dead chicken? I HOPE not.