I did more than usual today, and went out more. It all just seems strange.
Opened by listening to a streaming concert this morning - Ramin and Hadley. It's available for 48 hours so I just let it play in the background. Tomorrow I'll listen and maybe record it. Funny - two years ago I hadn't heard of streaming concerts. And the only reason that I have, and that they've been A Thing, is because of Covid. Otherwise they'd just be doing concerts - as in, with an audience, instead of being filmed.
Returned a book to the library. And while I was going there, I grabbed a half-dozen of Bob's books to donate. I feel a little twisted about that.
And kept my phone ready to receive FaceBook notifications, which I never do. But Ebaida's cat is very sick, possibly dying, too slowly (vets in Egypt apparently won't put animals down) and she is distraught, so I wanted to feel I was standing by.
Then I went on to the Museum, not to work, but to visit. I hadn't seen Judy for two months (also to pick up some stuff that Shelby had for me). I visited with Murphy for awhile, then Judy. Allison came over (because Judy was baking cookies). I told her I had heard that the green house was being cleaned out (not a glass house, but an old house, falling apart, painted green Once Upon A Time, where we stored our Halloween Howl stuff). There were some Nazgul-style robes and gauntlets that I had made that I was rather proud of - and she said the Museum wasn't going to do the Howl anymore so I could help myself. I wandered into the dank building, bits of the ceiling on the floor, smelling of dust and mold - and to me, bringing back the moments when it was time to create magic, Rob and Jeff and Bob and I once again going overboard and somehow turning curbside and Goodwill finds into something dark and disturbing and creepy for the haunted trail. I open a bin full of Bob's dolls. His most elaborate scene (and the one people remembered the most) - dozens of dolls and candles. I leave them there. Of course, Rob and Jeff have moved to Tennessee and Bob is gone, and the room is collapsing and I couldn't find the robes (any organization we had was totally gone) and it was once such a major part of our lives.
Then I went to visit Adrianne. It was to be a brief visit. My luck - I finally meet someone local who is enthusiastically obsessed with spinning - and she had developed some health problems, possibly cardiac, gets tired easily and finds talking painful. But a few weeks ago we had both ordered some spinning fibers (to save on shipping) and I wanted to take hers to her, along with a bagful of other spinning goodies. So it was about a half-hour drive from the Museum to her place, a half hour visit, and then the hour drive home. I was getting quite hungry by then - could have scrounged some leftovers at home but decided to eat out. Was going to go to Blaze Pizza - but guess what? Not there anymore. Went to Los Compadres as an alternate outdoor venue. It was getting surrealistic - a gorgeous day, blue skies, sunny, warm but not yet hot. There was a rather raucous party downing Margaritas, (this is about 3:30 in the afternoon) and another group more quietly downing shots, and me, sitting alone, reading Daphne DuMaurier's "Rebecca."
Then home, alone.
As the sun went down, I sat on the back deck, locking out a fleece. This is the ridiculously tedious process of taking apart a wool fleece, lock by lock, and rolling up in nylon netting into neat little sausages for washing. It does make for easier and better processing later when you comb or card it. In my first 35 years of spinning, I never had the patience to lock out a fleece. I'd do a couple of dozen (you can pull hundreds of locks off a fleece) and say the heck with it and just shove it all into mesh bags for washing. But maybe sitting in that hospital room for three months did something to me - I locked out two fleeces in the last year, and am doing a third.
And thinking that this is my life now. It's not a bad life. It's just that it used to be better.
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