To start out with the bad news, I woke up this morning feeling so lousy that the long road trip we were ARE planning seemed like a really bad idea. Have I told you about my condition? (that would be a search term were I properly indexed) Mr S has refrained from pointing out more than twice that not getting out of the house until noon or later would seem to contraindicate a more strenuous schedule. Many hotels require checkout before noon, I note. But he hates traveling, so how am I supposed to go anywhere for the rest of my life? Alone?? as if. That's why I'm supposedly trying out other traveling companions. Once I get up I can be out in ten minutes if necessary, although it is seldom necessary. But I have lately worked out that I am trying to learn to exercise some control over the travel: not to just go along with someone else's program, and not to have to plan every meal and stop myself with the other people's possible pleasure in mind, which is like a job rather than a vacation.
Now I'm back from my walk, it seems more reasonable. Maybe that's just the drugs kicking in.
I found a book in the Little Free Library on Colby St, The Friday Night Knitting Club, which I brought home since I didn't have a book in my bag and the general concept seems strangely familiar, like the Jane Austen Book Club (both the book, and the club) (and there was the movie too). (Hey, we could be a movie.)
Today I started reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. Yesterday I read The Boy Who was Raised as a Dog by the doctor (Perry) who is a source and character in one of Andrew Vachss' books (where I got the reference), all about neurodevelopmental therapy for traumatized children, and despite the title pretty upbeat -- that kid actually came out of it okay. Fascinating stuff.
In January I read very nearly all of Andrew Vachss' work. Now waiting for the last to arrive from Powell's (Free Shipping!) so I can read that one, that isn't in the library system, and then the sequels again and get the rest of them back to the library already. I might re-read Pain Management again which is the one I started with, from the library sale, which attracted my attention for obvious reasons. Obvious around here anyhoo.
The new barista at Cargo, Max (who was won over by my Wild Rumpus coin purse), told me about his winter camping trip. Actually he said "stay warm" and I said "wool" and then he told me about going out to pick fallen branches for firewood out of the snow in the dark with a headlamp and a German shepherd puppy following him. Good times.
Yesterday's yoga class was as usual excellent. For that matter Monday's T'ai Chi class was excellent, and friendly, and I touted the Yoga for Chronic Pain class to a couple of new people there who are never going to do any other kind of yoga.
Then yesterday's walk was also excellent. I saw a big hawk land in a tree right by the bike path, and we stood around for ten minutes or so watching each other, until it took off to pounce on something in the grass without success and then glided up the creek to another tree. All photos with my iPhone were terrible.
It was a wonderful sunny day hitting 50 yesterday. I walked out to the Arboretum boardwalk, and started kicking all the melting packed ice off the boards, instead of tippytoeing over it. This was Range Of Motion exercise for adductors/abductors with a little weight added, plus balance work on slippery boards; also if I were a kid called Playing In The Snow. You know when you kick a big slab and it breaks loose, yay! Except I felt so socially useful as well. Mr S says I should bill the Arb for snow removal. Cleared the whole stretch from the entrance out to the lake platform, which should be dry today, but none of the side trails.
The papermaking session Tuesday afternoon was also enjoyable, although four people is really too many in my basement, very close quarters. I gave random lectures on papermaking history and techniques, without charging a dime, with hands-on demonstrations. Made some more pulp paintings myself, and JJ brought non-dairy chocolate pudding for our tea break. My outrageous stockpile of used art papers and junk mail is slowly being processed, with a little help from my friends, every Saturday afternoon, and some of the doo-dad supplies too.
Personally I still think the rafters in the basement should be painted white, just for the visual lift, down there in the Short People's Basement. Mr S always points out what an insane amount of work this would be, but this time I gave him the Kirby manual for setting it up to apply paint and also implied he might not be the one doing all the work, or all at once.
Cloudy today, (and still above freezing) so the local groundhog could NOT see his shadow, at whatever time they roused him, unless from klieg lights brought in for photo op. According to ancient northern European folklore this should mean early spring, except in this neck of the woods another six weeks of winter WOULD be an early spring. Maybe ours has been shipped by jet stream a quarter of the way around the world. From what I hear.
Been watching the Daily Show regularly, which is far more entertaining than the straight news, although Jon Stewart doesn't actually have to do anything with the Republican circus except play clips and make funny faces. La commedia es stupenda