Herself: I bought a bonsai that the expert insisted I couldn’t kill…but needs to be watered every day….a crown of thorns Lee started from seed. It was good to see Lee’s family. And too, why I bought back the big heavy pig chopping block that I gave him, I will never know. Maybe to give to Lessa. Opinion: Rango is good for ten year old's tho has good graphics. Something outgassing at Ross, and I was unable to breathe for a while today. Awful.
Tomorrow: Swim, talk with Bee, do more laundry. Breathe.
At Amvets we picked up two CD’s from the West Wing. “For your consideration,” they say. When I got home and compared apples to oranges, I discovered we had two academy member CD’s for the Emmy’s. Performances on each won Emmy’s.
Could I find the recipe for the chicken salad I picked up at Minnie’s funeral? Anywhere. No. I knew it was in my grandma’s handwritten cookbook, but for a while I couldn’t find even that. Finally giving up, I scribbled what I thought might be it in my own handwritten cookbooks, then made it for dinner. Watching the progression of handwritings is very interesting. From unformed schoolgirl printing to abandoned scribbles. That’s all I can do now….my hand goes wild and my eyes lose focus. In between are years of formed and readable shapes.
Back things up. Months 1, 2, and 3. I haven’t backed up the backups for my blogs or pictures in three months. And I never got to it yesterday either. I confess, I’m doing it this morning. Now, actually.
Album. I finally have all the pictures from the Christmas cruise gathered together, right there. I have extra pages, right there. Somewhere downstairs mixed in with the acres of albums no one ever looks at is an extra empty album. Just waiting. I’m in far better order now that I was months ago, so I have blind faith the album will surface.
Shall I ever bother with making an album after this one. Who looks at them? Who will use them and remember me? They have evolved from pasted pictures on a page to story and pictures making a whole. Snobbishly artistic stuff that I like but no one else cares about. Life is online now not on paper. Sometimes not even in fabric. Perhaps I should donate the whole shtick, the whole mess, to my college or HS. “Keep the journals, the albums, and the quilts together, please,” I would say. Ah, such comfortable insanity.