Autumn in New England

[rolanni]

So, it's pretty much been routine medical appointments and yoga, with a side order of cat juggling, over the last week.

On the topic of cat juggling, I worry about Mozart; he's getting grumpier and more reclusive, but doesn't seem to be in any pain. He's just. . .a really old cat. The other day he hit Trooper in the head for no reason that my inferior human understanding could encompass -- it looked to me like the kid got whacked for the sin of jumping up on the bed, and burbling in my direction.

Happily, Trooper is a sunny little person, and slow to take offense. He settled down where he was, to prove that he could, of course; that's mandated in the manual.  After his point was made, he got up, head-butted Mozart gently, and jumped to the floor. I thought that was pretty classy, and apparently so did Mozart, who refrained from being offended.

This morning, was the second of three medical thingies.  After it was over, Steve and I motored on out to Fairfield to break our fasts at the Purple Cow.  Beyond the fact that we should have had the foresight to bring a friend to help us eat one breakfast between us all, I wish to state that New England chefs continue to Not Get biscuits and gravy.  Now, I know this, and you'd be perfectly justified in asking why I persist in ordering it.  The answer is that I haven't, for many years, unless we were actually, yanno, in the South, where they know from biscuits and gravy, but this morning I just. . .fell off the wagon.  It was OK, for what it was, which was something other than biscuits and gravy, and there was far too much of it.  Also, the coffee was good.

So, anyway -- one more medical appointment, on Monday, in Bangor, with a hammer -- no, wait; wrong game. One more to complete the set, I say, on Monday, and between then and now, the weekend, during which I finally hope to convince the new book that we're on the same side, and if it will only just trust me, I can, and will, help it.

Today, I've got to find our copy of A Night in the Lonesome October.  Because of the timing of the book tour, Steve and I are varying this year.  We'll be starting the journey a couple days early, so we'll finish up reading the night before we're to leave, so the book can stay safely at home with Mary the house sitter, and the cats, and not be subjected to the Dangers of the Road.

. . .and I think we're all caught up.  What're you doing this weekend that's fun and interesting?

For those who haven't seen it elsewhere, here's a picture of Trooper, waiting for me to get my yoga in gear.

The yogi is in
Photo by Sharon Lee

Comments

Weekend plans.

[catherine kelleher (from livejournal.com)]

I am cooking and packing for a raft trip on the San Juan river with friends. This stretch has a take-out midway through at Mexican Hat. At that point my husband will leave me to go home and deal with corporate visitors the following day. I get to go on alone, and since it is my first time rafting without him I am worrying about the things he usually does, like schlepping our gear up slippery slopes, loading and tying on the gear to the raft, and loading the raft onto the trailer at the end. I am also worried because the river at the end empties into Lake Powell and gets very shallow. So picture a chocolate river that has zero visibility into the water, some parts of the river are 2 inches deep and some parts of the river are a nice deeper channel. But you can't tell which is which and all you see is flat sheet of slow moving chocolate water. The hidden channel sloshes back and forth between the banks in a somewhat unpredictable manner. If you miss the channel, you have to drag the boat across the shallow part until you find the channel again. Last year, with the two of us, dragging was not to bad. This year with just me, I'm afraid I'm going to be a drag on the whole group. So I plan to take lots of alcohol to share with the other rafters and make them happy to help me out as need.