Lotza words

Fifteen hundred or so yesterday. How would you like a Sixer to turn up on your 21st floor balcony? Well, if you had just had a family meal where your stepmother excoriated you for two hours about how you were the stupidest woman alive for not finding a way of making money out of Sixers WHEN YOU MET THEM AND HOW STUPID ARE YOU ANYWAY maybe you’d greet them more cheerfully than you running around in a nightie might suggest.

Besides, everyone trusts Michel.  He does what he says and stays out of stuff that isn’t his business. Or does he?  Only time will tell…

Gave Katie a driving lesson the other day, one of the advantages of Paul leaving me the car.

It is always good to be able to help friends and family.  I made sure Keith and Paul had a meal prepped in their fridge (cannelloni cilantro almond & onion salad plus Singapore style noodles I’d picked up earlier) and picked them up at Edmonds after their trip to Toronto/London (yes, Paul met up with Carrie and Keith, bless him, poked his head in on The Vampire Family, which makes me very, very happy)  and handed over the car.  Of course if it hadn’t been on a night of the full moon I wouldn’t have been awake, but them’s the breaks, and they broke the right way.

Three loads of laundry yesterday.  Practiced mandolin already this morning. Poor Margot doesn’t know she’s going back to the vet tomorrow but she’s obviously suffering, poor lamb.  I put her favourite rug in the wash just now along with the upstairs sofa cover, since various babies and cats have been yielding up their valuable inner resources onto them both of late.

I didn’t know that Jean Webster had published anything beside Dear Enemy and Daddy-Long-Legs so I’m going to be checking out the other books on Gutenberg today.  It annoys me that she died so young in childbirth; she should have lived to be a hundred.