I haven’t blogged much this week because as I warned earlier I didn’t have that much to say and because brush fires connected to remodeling kept demanding my attention. For instance, we played musical refrigerators—everything inside went either to the apt. refrigerator that Jordan moved into the kitchen or to the new one in the cottage. Jordan and Christian had picked out a huge, fancy fridge, and it was delivered. My granddaughter transferred all the stuff from the small unit to the new one, but I didn’t get things from outside until last night—mayonnaise for example, which is to me a staple of existence.
Another morning, before ten, I greeted the dog groomer, the cleaning lady, an AT&T tech who was keeping an appointment that was cancelled, and the contractors who wanted to talk about window treatments—I am still out to lunch on that but have done some investigating. Pleated shades are expensive, especially since no two windows outside are standard size or even the same size—I need custom made.
I did write a lengthy blog last night, hit a button, and it disappeared. Too tired to reconstruct it. You really didn’t miss much--it was trivia. Part of it though was about the second night Jamie and Edie were here--we picked up Betty, my Wed. night dinner companion, and went to Bravo—a contemporary Italian food chain. Had a jolly time, including my recounting sitting in the car while Jamie and Eden loaded the wheelchair into the trunk. Jamie said, far too loudly, “I know. But she’s your grandmother and you’ll just have to put up with it.” Eden blushed furiously and I told her I knew she hadn’t said anything—her father’s idea of a joke. He kept us laughing through dinner. Jamie is forever my prankster.
Today I’m home working, while Jordan and Christian have enlisted friends, a Pod, and a U-Haul to empty their house. For Fort Worth in August, it’s a lovely day—in the 80s and off-and-on gentle showers. However, if you’re moving furniture, the rain is not so lovely.
We expect next weekend to be when we do the bulk of moving my stuff to the cottage. All my kids will be here—great reason for a family get-together. And they all sound anxious to help. The cottage is painted, although it may need a second coat, and according to all reports, looks lovely.
On a non-moving note, I’ve had the Olympics on but muted most of the time. Interesting to see how many of the athletes, men and women, sport large tattoo. Good for them. I am far less enthusiastic about the language on Facebook from Clinton and Obama haters—makes me realize that the level of civility in this country has dropped into a great abyss. I’ve taken to scolding. And when someone directly challenges me, I respond.
Busy this morning explaining to knuckleheads why Trump is in Baton Rouge and President Obama is not. The president went along with the governor’s request to stay away until next week, when more security personnel could be pulled from helping citizens to protect visiting dignitaries. Trump ignored it and went for a 49-second photo op; Obama agreed to abide by the request and will go next week. Probably won’t bring any Play-doh with him either.