Time Still Flies Even When You Ain't Having Fun

Another week gone by. So many plans, so many things I had to do, so many... and none of them done. Why? Because I've been absolutely exhausted and have done nothing but sleep all week and weekend. All I managed to wake up for was to shower, eat, and go to the can. Then it was back to the Monster to sleep again. I don't know what's going on, but it clearly needs to be checked out. I think it has to do with the diabetes, because I'm also getting these really strange red blotches all over my legs (poor circulation). Great. Another doctor's visit, another possibility of winding up on the floor. I have to have more blood tests, so maybe those will show something. The hell with it. Nobody wants to read about this shit. On to happier things.

Before I relate all the other birthday stuff, I want to thank all of you again. Many of you sent me emails, snail mail cards, gifts, and well-wishes of all kinds. I was truly, deeply touched by each and every thing. You all made me feel loved and a vital part of this community. I am so blessed to have you as my friends, confidants, companions, people who work with me in the shop. I had no idea when I began blogging that my presence here would even be acknowledged, let alone celebrated. You've made me happy beyond belief, and that's priceless. Thank you. :)

On to the rest of the stuff.

The birthday visit to the prison was amazing. Hubster didn't even let on about what he had planned, so I let it ride. When he dropped me off at the prison, Bill was waiting for me and drove me in. When I got inside, my boys were waiting and escorted me to the chapel. A few times, I came out of the office and caught them huddling over the table. Hm. All was revealed when the class began and they made me sit in the "big chair" (it's just more imposing than the others). I was then presented with two cards - one from the Indians, one from everybody else. Then the presents were given. The first one was a necklace and earring set, hand-beaded, with a perfectly rendered turtle at the end of the necklace and earrings. Then the large gift was given. They had procured two eagle feathers and made them into a smudge fan for me. I, of course, burst into tears. They don't know what to do with me when I do that. So two of them wiped my tears away while they shuffled their feet. Then another of my boys handed me a bracelet he had woven out of sinew and beaded. It has a wooden medicine wheel in the center which he carved out with a very small tool; he then singed the wood with a lighter. It's on my wrist as I type. In fact, I don't ever have to take it off. The more I wear it, the better. I stuck out my wrist for him to put it on. I don't think he's put jewelry on a woman in years; he was taken aback for a second, but then he gently placed it around my wrist and fastened it. Perfect. Then they all took turns playing me a birthday song. After the class, one of the men took me out back to show me the sweat lodge and the area where they drum and pray. It was amazing.

As many of you know, I'm allergic to bees and everything else which stings. They had planted a certain plant which attracts bees and butterflies. As we walked down the gravel path through the flower garden, all the bees transferred themselves from the plants to me. I freaked out, but my companion told me to relax. So I did, and I found myself surrounded by bees and butterflies, all keeping a distance of about a foot al around me. We looked like a cloud of flying beauty as we walked down the path. Medicine. It's all medicine. Now that I'm an elder, they respected me (which is how he described it). All I know is that they never touched me (other than the butterflies, who periodically landed on me), and kept guard over me while I was in the sacred area. Then he walked me out, and I left for the day.

Once I got in the car, Hubster gave me my card. On the front was an English Bulldog puppy. Inside, he wrote something like, "The bearer of this card is entitled to one puppy like the one pictured on the front". There was a lot of other mushy stuff, but that was my gift. She arrives this Thursday from Moscow, if you can believe it. She has a layover in Amsterdam, but the breeder has assured me she'll be just fine. I won't stop worrying until she's safely in my hands, though. Emma will be flying into San Francisco at 1:30 p.m., and we'll be there to pick her up, take her out of her carrier, and cuddle her. The breeder is selling her for a friend in Moscow who is also a breeder. What I've found out is that some of the finest Bullies come from that region. Normally, I would go to the pound to adopt a dog, but I've always wanted an English Bull, and they're hard to come by in the shelter. I've already got her signed up for puppy training classes, her first vet appointment, and will be shopping for all her goodies this week. She's also been microchipped, but I'll be sure to put a "regular" tag on her as well. Would you like to see a picture of her? Well, here she is, whether or not you want to see her. Humor me.





After the card presentation, we took off for Reno. We didn't have much money to gamble with, but it was nice to get away for a night. I won one small jackpot, which kept us gambling for the evening, but my luck pretty much stank. They've also switched all the machines over to tickets, so you don't get to haul around racks of dollar coins or tokens of larger denominations. Gone, too, are the buckets for quarters and other coins. They have that fake money-dropping sound when you cash out. Sigh. Another wonderful thing gone. They've even removed the trays and coin slots, so you can't drop a quarter in a machine as you pass by. It's beginning to feel like the Indian casinos. I don't go to Reno for that - I go to Reno for the neon, the noise, smoking at my table in the restaurant (now prohibited). I don't think I'll be going back too often. It's just not the same, and I don't understand why they can't leave some things alone. As for shopping opportunities, forget it. The kinds of things I shop for just aren't there. The only really good thing is that we found Emma on Hubster's computer while we were lounging in the room.

I'm working on a huge update for the shop, which I had hoped to have completely done by now. Since I've slept all week, though, I may not have it finished until tomorrow. I'll also be having a sale sometime this week, but I'm not sure when. I'll announce it here, as well as sending out a newsletter. Look for new vendors, updates to existing vendors, and my siggy yarn back in stock.

That's about it for now. We'll be busy early this week cleaning the house in preparation for Emma's arrival. I can't have crap on the floor for her to eat, and I'm not known for my housekeeping prowess. If I could afford it, I'd hire a maid, but that isn't happening any time soon. We've also got a possible crisis coming up with the house, but I'll tell you about that if and when it happens. We may also go to the county fair tomorrow night or Tuesday - I love the fair. Besides, I want to test out my gimp sign.

That means I'll have less opportunity to fall flat on my face going from the truck to the gate.

I'm Not Dead - Yet

Just a quick note to let you all know that I'm still alive and sort of kicking. I had a rather busy birthday, so I've been doing nothing but sleeping for the entire week. I'll be posting about all my adventures (and misadventures) either tonight or tomorrow, but I wanted to say hi and thank all of you who were kind enough to send me cards, presents, and well-wishes. They were appreciated more than you'll ever know. :)

Mark bought me a special gift. And it's not jewelry.

Back to the Monster for some quiet knitting before I work on the blog and/or shop. I'm so far behind, it's not funny. Sigh.

I'll talk to you all soon.

Reflections

Well, since this is the last day before I turn into a relic, I thought I would take stock of my life and see what's happened these past 50 years. Shit, that sounds old. If I were a car, I'd be an antique.

When you're faced with the prospect of knowing that your life is truly more than half over, it's a sobering thought. I know that a lot of people say that 50 is the new 30 or some such thing. Bullshit. 50 is 50, no matter how you look at it. I'm now a card-carrying member of AARP. I have a handicapped placard (which does, I must admit, come with all sorts of cool privileges). I'm beginning to see wrinkles appearing on my formerly smooth face.

I'm getting old.

The strange thing is, I don't feel any different than I did when I was 16 or 26 or 36 or 46. How am I supposed to feel? Illness aside, my mind is the same. I still listen to the same music. I still like fast sports cars, big diamonds, swimming pools, and walking around naked as much as possible. Is there some switch that's supposed to flip when, at 8:04 a.m. tomorrow morning, I enter the second half of my life? Is it time to wear red hats? What the hell am I supposed to do or feel that's different than now or the previous decades?

So in taking stock of all the things that have happened, I've lost one husband and married another; I've lost two houses; I've gotten a disease which is slowly and painfully killing me; I count a group of murderers among my dearest friends; I've made the most amazing friends online (who have showed their love by sending cards and/or gifts); I became sterile at age 27; I've lost more people to death than I would have imagined possible; I'm a grandmother to the two most amazing and beautiful children; my daughter is getting lazier and more disgusting by the day; I drive a convertible (finally!); I've lost many of the things that were near and dear to my heart because of the debacle that was my life two years ago; I find myself renting again and wondering if I'll ever own a house again; and so many other things that would take far too long to type out. I have learned one important thing, though. This is going to sound strange coming from me, the queen of excess and materialism, but here it is:

The material things don't mean shit. The important things are your family, friends, and being with the man you love more than life itself.

There. I said it. Don't tell Hubster that, or he'll make me give up the stash.

Seriously, though, I look at life a lot differently than I used to. I've had all the things which I thought were important. It turned out that even though it was painful and horrible to lose them, the really important thing is that Hubster is still here and always will be. He is my soulmate, the other half of me, the man who completes me and loves me for who and what I am, and the man who will walk with me into the twilight of my life. I have no illusions about living for another 40 years. Ain't gonna happen. If I hit 60, it'll be a miracle. But that's okay. I've lived an amazing life, complete with playing blackjack with a mobster (from the Gambino family, no less), having my boobs pop out of a black leather bustier onto a roulette table and knocking all the chips all over the table in Vegas, driving my brand new 2000 Corvette at 90 MPH through the Sierras, literally going from riches to rags and having to start over at 30, and still having men trying to pick me up at my age. There is so much more, so many more colors to the rich tapestry which has been my life, that I would have to write a book to contain it all. I can barely keep up with email, so the book will have to wait. I hope that the second half of my life will be as exceptional as the first.

I typically get depressed at birthdays because they usually suck. Because of all my friends (you guys), you've made me feel loved and special. My boys at the prison have something planned, so that will be special. I hope that Hubster has something planned, because he's the one who can make or break the day. But whatever happens, it's a landmark birthday. I'm now an Elder in the tribe, and I now command respect just because of that. Amazing.

I've been fortunate to live during a time when amazing things have happened. The first man on the moon. The first artificial heart. Amazing medical advances. Tolerance becoming more the norm than the exception. A shop which makes people happy. Too many things to list here, too.

So, my life is really a rich tapestry woven with decades of change, love, tears, heartbreak, friends, lovers, husbands, family gone, family come, animals who are family gone or going. The colors of my life are bright and constantly changing. They haven't changed to autumn colors yet; I'm not ready for that. I have too much left to do, too much left to give, too much. I'm a better person for all the shit that's happened, and I'd like to think that I've made a difference somehow, somewhere.

So now, on this, the last day of my 40's, I'm going to pack my knitting, my flute books, my flutes, my healing oils, and all the other things I take with me, and get ready to go to the prison. They'll be the first ones to celebrate with me, and I wouldn't want to be any place else. I love these men, and they love me. Where else would I be?

Well, maybe Vegas in the Hunka Hunka Burning Love Chapel renewing my vows.

But you know what? I can do that with Grandmother Moon as my witness, just me and Hubster, in the still of the night.

That sounds perfect to me.

SP12 Question No. 2

In the spirit of being a good secret pal person, I'm playing along with the questions of the week. Here is the second one:

As a kid, what did you look forward to most about summer vacation/break/holiday?

This was a tough one, mainly because I've been out of school for so long (32 years since I graduated from high school) that it took some real thinking (and you know how much that hurts). I decided to focus on high school instead of grammar school, because all I did in grammar school was sleep in, go swimming, and watch TV. Wow. High school was more interesting, mainly because of two things:

Boys and cars (and not necessarily in that order, but usually utilizing both at the same time).

Summer meant being able to go to a lot of parties (either with a lot of other people or private ones), going to the drive-in on a warm summer night and being able to rip off my uh... uh... let's skip that one...

Going to the fair, concerts at the Oakland Coliseum (Day on the Green, for those of you who lived in the Bay Area during the 70's and were a teenager then), being able to stay out really late, going to Santa Cruz to the Boardwalk and swimming in the ocean, vacations with the family (ick), and finally getting my own car (a '55 Chevy BelAir, all restored, jacked up in the back with Monroe gas shocks, and with slotted dish mag wheels) into which we crammed a bunch of people and went cruising with the 8-track blasting out of the two dinky speakers on the rear deck (and we all thought we were so cool). We would cruise through Livermore (their high school's mascot was the Cowboys - lots of ranches there at that time), and would yell out the window, "Come ride me, cowboy!". Oh geez.

Now I'm just hot and miserable and wait until winter comes around again. I could go cruising in my T-Bird with the top down, but I never know what will happen when I drive now.

God. Those were the days.

Secret Pal 12 Question

This question (and answer) are supposed to be put on my blog, so here goes:

What is your favorite summertime drink??

I'd have to say it's a toss-up between lemonade and limeade. Ice-cold and slushy. For me, they're the most refreshing things to drink when it's hot.

Seeing the World With My Ass in the Air

What the hell does that title mean? All will be revealed.

As you all know, Monday was prison day. Because of the bad wake-up call service, we were going to bring our own alarm clock. It didn't quite work out that way - we left the thing at home. When we got to the hotel, we tried to call down to the front desk to place a call order and found that the phones weren't working. Oh goodie. That meant I had to rely on the clock radio on the nightstand to wake me up. I made sure that the station was coming in good and clear, set the alarm, and turned the thing up full blast. I finally got to sleep around 2 a.m. and slept the sleep of the dead.

At 6 a.m., the radio went off. I actually heard it and woke Hubster up. I then promptly fell back asleep, waking up at 7:30 a.m. Swell. Two hours on the phone then ensued, with me calling everyone from the watch commander to the lieutenant to the sergeant to the warden himself, trying to get the class released. They finally told me to come in, send in a list of men, and they would release them. Yay!

I hurried to get ready and took off for the prison. Mind you, it was already 80 degrees. The chaplain was on vacation, so I had to trudge all the way in. Everything was fine until I was one cell block away. That's when the first incident happened.

I suddenly found myself sprawled face-first in the gravel with my ass sticking up in the air.

That was bad enough, but a guard drove right past me without stopping to see if I was okay. So I had to pick myself up, brush off all the gravel, and continue my trudge. I made it to the cell block, checked in, and entered the yard. My guys weren't anywhere in sight, so I had to navigate through about 300 men, all of them wanting to come up to me and say good morning. I think it was the sundress that did it. I made it to the chapel, got inside, and no more than a minute later, someone banged on the door. It was one of my guys. Word had gone around the yard that I was there and made it to him; he then hotfooted it to the chapel. This all happened in less than two minutes. Amazing.

As it turned out, none of my guys had been inside the chapel for over two weeks because of the chaplain being gone. So we got the names, gave it to someone, and he took off for the watch commanders' office to turn it in. No problem, right?

It wouldn't have been, except the guards decided to call a count, which meant that the yard had to be cleared. That meant that my guys were returned to their cells and not allowed to come to my class. So I had two of my guys in the office with me. No class, but we sat around and bullshitted for a couple of hours. Then I had to leave to go to the doctor's. One of them stayed behind to do some work; the other walked me out to the door. That's when the second incident happened.

The alarm went off, the inmates all hit the ground, and the guards all went charging across the yard with machine guns, the medics went running with medical supplies, a litter was carried to bring out a body, and I didn't know what the hell to do. So I hit the ground along with everyone else. That's when a guard approached me and asked whose cane I was holding on to (the guy who walked me out walks with one and offered it to me so I could lower to the ground). He thought that the guy I was with was trying to take it from me or something. I told him it wasn't mine, whereupon the guard invited me to come stand in the shade with those who were watching the yard. He also said I didn't have to be with "them". I thanked him and said I was quite comfortable. It turns out that I don't have to hit the ground when the alarm sounds - I just have to hug the wall and walk to the exit door. I wanted to see what was going on. Apparently someone got killed in the dayroom - probably stabbed - but I had to leave before I saw a body come out. Yeah... I've got a sick and twisted sense of adventure.

Walking out wasn't as bad as walking in, even though the temperature had now climbed to about 93. It was horrible. But I made it, climbed into the truck, and off we set for the doctor.

(this is where the title really makes sense)

I didn't have to wait in the waiting room very long and was taken to a room to wait for the doctor. The usual stuff was taken - blood pressure (102/60), pulse, etc. I talked to the gal who did all this and told her why I was there (I was ordered to come in), and settled down to read a magazine while I waited. That's when it happened.

One minute, I was reading about Brooke Shields; the next minute, I was face-first on the ground with my right cheek pressed against the floor, my legs tangled up in the chair, and my ass sticking straight up in the air with the chair still glued to it. And I couldn't get out no matter what I did. It HURT. So I began to scream for help. Nobody heard me for almost five minutes; then, I heard the doctor saying "What is that?". I yelled some more, she opened the door and saw me, yelled, "Oh my god, someone help!" (there's a doctorly reaction), and she and the nice lady I was talking to earlier began to pull on the chair. Oh no no no no. I yelled some more and began to cry. It took both of them almost five minutes to untangle my legs from the chair. I had to have my sandals pulled off. Then it took both of them to lift me off the floor into the now upright chair. Shit. My knees were already turning black and blue, and it hurt like hell to even move. I asked my doctor for a handicapped placard, and she didn't even quibble. I couldn't have tangled myself up at a better time. You know how they say that the couple of days after an accident are the worst? They're right, whoever "they" are. I can barely move, and my knees are a lovely shade of deep blue and purple. They're also swollen and filled with fluid. I'm such a glamor gal.

So now, on the eve of the big 50, I'm officially a gimp. At least I'll get really good parking spots and can probably drive right up to the cell block. There are benefits. But then the dreaded piece of mail arrived:

My AARP invitation.

I've been expecting it but, even so, expecting it and actually getting it are two different things. I'm now a sort of proud member of AARP. I get senior citizen discounts on all kinds of things.

Just shoot me now, would you?

Some good news arrived today. I got my anklet (it's turquoise pillows with multi-colored jade, crystals, and silver sunflowers hanging down), and a very large crate from Golding Fiber Tools of Vermont. I've been expecting both, but it's the crate I was dying to open. The thing is about 3'x2'x2.5'. Hubster had to unscrew several screws to take off the lid. And there, sitting on the bottom and filling the entire crate, was this:







Here's the carving work on the whorl.







This thing weighs a ton, so I don't have to clamp it to a table to use it. You don't have to put any tension on the yarn coming off the swift; in fact, the instructions say not to. There are two extra belts which are stored on the bottom of it. I can't wait to use it, so I might just wind some skeins tonight. Tom Golding, who made this marvel of machinery (all out of black walnut), is also going to make me a custom spinning wheel with three bobbins on it (two for spinning, one for plying). I put down a deposit to hold my space. The wheel will be designed in 2013. Yep. You read it right. He's booked that far in advance. And when I say designed for me, that's exactly what I mean. We'll collaborate and decide on a design that's all my own. It will have something to do with a Native American shield - probably with eagle feathers and birds of prey carved on the spokes of the wheel, the mother of all, and the top knob. Take a look at his site - it's his DPN's that I use and adore. As for knitting, all my orders are filled, so I'm going to rest my aching legs and knees and knit for the evening, too.

So that's what I've been up to. Next week, I get to go to the DMV for a new driver's license (and the gimp sign), go to Mom's to celebrate her 71st birthday, and hopefully go to a new knitting group I've been invited to join. Then the following Monday, it's the big day. Sigh.

I hope I'm able to celebrate without my ass waving in the breeze.

NEW VENDORS

Just a quick note to let you know that you will now find in the shop:

Flat Feet (50 of them - all different!)

Flat Feet Pattern Books (11 of them)

1,000 Petals

Blarney Yarn

Debra's Garden (new colors)

Dyepot

Fiber Jewels

Little Dog Designs

Random Meanderthings

The Fiber Gourmet

as well as all the other terrific vendors. I have several more to add and will leave posts as I get them added.

All orders placed this weekend will be filled Tuesday. This is prison weekend, so we'll be gone until late Monday night.

See you then!

This and That

Wow. Another huge period of non-communication. If you think this is bad, you should see my email...

I don't know what's going on. Maybe it's Mercury being in retrograde. Maybe it's because I'm so damn tired. Maybe it's because I have so much work to do that it's shooting out my ass. I don't know. Add to that the malaise I've been feeling, and it isn't a pretty picture. So to all of you who have left comments and/or emails which I haven't answered, I apologize. I'm barely keeping my head above water over here.

That's not to say that all is bad. I've begun a new pair of socks out of a gorgeous tone-on-tone wine-colored yarn by Woolly Boully. I did my swatch. I got the right gauge. I cast on and got about an inch of ribbing done. I realized that it would fit my granddaughter's foot. Cut. Start over. Knit another inch of ribbing. Then I realized I hadn't done the math right. I wound up cutting the yarn again (fuck frogging - I have enough yarn to waste some) and casting on 84 stitches. That might sound excessive, but it really isn't. My calves, no matter how thin I am (and I'm NOT thin at this stage of my life) have always looked like upside-down milk bottles. As such, sock ribbing usually stretches WAY out. At least they will fit my leg. The top of the sock has a seed-stitch design, and then the body is straight stockinette. Not a lot of stretch there, so the additional stitches will be welcome. Having 60 stitches at a gauge of 8 SPI just isn't going to cut it. This is, admittedly, a stupid sock pattern (meaning that I can watch People's Court and not pay attention to stitch patterns). I've been invited to join a knitting group, so this is the perfect pattern to work on while I'm bonding with a group of women whom I don't know. And that's okay. I need to get out and meet some fellow knitters, to sit and gossip about nothing in particular, to drop the top (finally) on the Bird and take off down the canyon roads (I used to party on those same canyon roads in my high school days, long before there were any shopping centers - they were delightfully dark and full of hidey places from the cops). I'll be driving down memory lane and remembering how much fun it was to find the perfect grove of trees to hide in, light a doobie, and screw my brains out in the car. Those were the days. If I tried that now, my car would be seen, I'd drop the doobie and start a forest fire, and my ass would get stuck on the gear shift. Then I'd break the seat. BIG repair and bail bills there. Sigh. I really have gotten old.

I can see that this is going to be one of those strange posts which wanders all over the place.

It must be the birthday. That's the only thing I can figure. I heard Hubster making my next dental visit (wait until you hear about the one I just endured), and he was trying to make it for the day after the big 5-0 happens. Shit. That means Reno is out. I hope he doesn't just take me out to dinner. I eat dinner every day - how special. I know I'm sounding like a whiny bitch, but I can't help myself. I've been warning him for five years that I wanted some big event to take place on that day - a new Harley, a trip on it to Vegas to get remarried by Elvis, something - and because we don't have any discretionary money, I have a sinking feeling that I'm going to get shit. No card, no dinner, no trip, definitely no Harley, no bullldog puppy (that was another thing I wanted), no Elvis, no nothing. Just shoot me now and take me out of my misery, because I know that when I wake up that day, I'm going to be bummed like I've never been bummed before. At least I'll be at the prison for the first part of the day, and my boys won't let me be bummed. I'm sure I'll bore you with all the gory details.

So. The dentist. I went last week to have my new crowns put on (the permanent ones) and my front teeth filled. No problem. I've never had a problem with new crowns - they just pop off the temps, stick the new ones on, and that's it. Not this time. He had to really pry the temps off (he uses Super Glue or something); once that was done, he had to remove the cement which was left on the little stubs under the crowns. He likes to use this laser which is actually a stream of water cranked up to the point where it slices through flesh (no kidding); because he was just taking off cement, he didn't numb me up. WRONG MOVE. Those little nubs were sensitive because there was barely any tooth covering the nerve. It hurt so bad that I actually screamed. So then he numbed the exterior of the tooth by wiping on novocaine. Nope. Then he shot me up. That usually doesn't bother me, either. This one hurt. A lot. He stuck the needle right in the gum next to the tooth, pulled it out, and then stuck it in the hinge of my jaw. Another scream. It took about six shots to get each side numbed to the point where I could stand it. Then it took about an hour for him to do the crowns and the fillings. Sigh. I tried to smoke but couldn't feel the ciggie; I tried to drink coffee and wound up with it all over my tits; I couldn't do anything. So I slept because I felt so shitty. When I woke up late that night, the novocaine had finally worn off. In its place, however, was a horrible throbbing. So next time, he's taking impressions for my new dentures. Thank goodness. I've still got my temporary upper and no lower partial. It makes eating steak a blast.

So tonight I'l be working on the shop. I've got a few vendors to list and some updates to do. The big thing that will probably happen tomorrow night is listing all the new Flat Feet which have come in. I have all the new colors in stock and have ordered twice as many as I had the last time. I also have the pattern books printed by the lady who invented Flat Feet. It has 12 patterns, I think, all written by her and her partner. I've not seen it, but I know I'm one of three vendors who has them. I'm hoping you all like them. I also have some really exciting new vendors whom I've signed on; one of them raises her own alpacas and has all kinds of incredible things to offer. I know I should be posting this on my shop blog, but nobody reads it; hence, I have to put shop news here. I apologize to those of you who don't give a rat's ass about the shop, but I have to post it somewhere.

So that's my life right now. I'll be gone this weekend (prison day), so anybody who places an order over the weekend won't have it shipped out until Wednesday. I'll be wiped out Monday night and won't get to the orders until Tuesday night (I'm learning my limitations). Right now, I'm going to knit for a while and then tackle the shop. Since I just woke up (I'm totally turned around), I'll be working all night. That's okay, though - it's beginning to warm up a little, and I don't care to work when it's hot in the house. I'd rather listen to silence and feel the cool breeze while I'm working. Hubster is pretty much on the same schedule as me, so it's nice to have company.

And on that note, I'll see you next week.