|It's beginning to look like a home|
Tonight we had happy hour, which turned into a lively discussion of Italy, travel, and, of course inevitably, politics. My neighbor Jay and I have opposing political beliefs—he swears Hillary is a felon and should be in jail; my arguments fall on deaf ears. Our other guests were surprised at the vehemence with which we debated. Later, after others had left, he said, “What’s wrong with them that they get so anxious when we debate politics?” He doesn’t take it seriously, though I do a bit more because I’m appalled that someone thinks as he does. He did say, however, that he would not vote for Trump because “He’s crazy.” He thinks the Republican party will disallow the Trump candidacy. Interesting to see the GOP convention—is it next week?
When Jordan was young, I served dinner every night at six, and I had a balanced meal planned for every night of the week. Those days are long gone. If I ask at five what’s for dinner, she has no idea. Tonight my dinner was a couple of miniature quiches, some cherry tomatoes, and cottage cheese followed by some of the Jello with fruit. I fixed all this myself because Jordan was still outside inspecting the cottage.
The cottage is coming along. Today they put in the window for my bedroom and put on the siding where it was once a parking bay. The window looks great. The bedroom looks very small.
and sheet rock are in place, and it’s beginning to look like livable space. I
wish I could go see, but it’s still a mess inside and there is no easy way to
get me down the steps out of this house—a ramp that scares Jordan half to death—and
up the steps to the cottage, though there will be a ramp there eventually.
Besides, I don’t expect to be in a wheeled device forever.
|My tiny bedroom|
Somehow at the end of these unremarkable days, I’m exhausted. Could go to sleep now at 8:15 but know I’d be wide awake at 5:00 a.m. or earlier. And another day of nothing done on the new novel. I have lots of ideas, and I know I’m procrastinating.