Here's a big sunburst my cousin Terry Huckabone made for me. How cool is that? He didn't even know the colors in my apartment. I may put it outside, or maybe I'll leave it here ... but then that poor decoupage of St. Peter will have to go ... or not. My ex-husband's sister made it for us for Christmas one year when everyone was doing decoupage. Linda, though, did it well, which was something almost none of us was doing.
Speaking of Steve, he told me that his daughter's name, Lied, is German -- not Swedish -- for song. I'm glad I didn't know that till now, otherwise my blog on April 15 would have been missing an entire paragraph.
That wire from my radio in the photo adds A Touch of Class, don't you think?
Here's some good timing I've never experienced before: I used up the last crumb of coffee at the same time I used my last coffee filter.
There are a couple more pictures and a lot more babbling about Olga's car on my other blog, Car'toos, so check that out if it interests you. You'll be able to see it -- and Liz's car, too -- tomorrow from eleven to three at The Longhouse (http://www.longhouse.info/) for the Bloom Where You're Planted thang. I'll be introducing my new line of toilet seats. You can go home and take a nap and then return for drumming with Buddy Helm (http://www.buddyhelm.com/) from seven to nine for twenty-five bucks. It's always a fulfilling time for me.
I know. You're sick of hearing about it. But if you'd come and see what I'm talking about, then you'd think I don't promote it enough. I just can't please you, can I?
I apparently need a bigger apartment. Mo has been here, recuperating from a tumor removal. He's one of four of Mike's cats, and he can't convalesce at home because there's a cat door and he's not allowed to go out while the stitches remain. So he's staying in the Guest Cottage here where Miss Pook vacations. Well, it turns out that Miss Pook also needs to use the Cottage next week. What a dilemma!
Mo's got a sort of Reverse Mohawk (Kwahom!) going on in his nether regions. He's a completely sweet cat, purring to the point of drooling, tucking his face into my neck, hanging his paw over my shoulder -- until the malevolent Mittens appears. There's been a bit of hissing and groaning between the two, and I try to stay out of it, but it seems too unfair. I mean, look at that incision! I'm embarrassed that Mittens is such a surly hostess, but she may get that from her mother ...
I found some of Olga's glitter on my bedroom windows outside.
Mittens showed up last evening soaking wet from the waist down. I suspect she received a comeuppance.
And finally, Happy birthday, KT! This is a dear friend in Minneapolis. She was my first massage therapist. I had a near-weekly massage from her for ten years. Imagine that. Wow. And I rarely talked during a massage. Now I babble like a ... well, like a nattering chatterer. I don't know what happened. I used to say that if KT ever returned to her native Minnesota, I'd move with her, but that time came and I turned out to be a liar.
Meanwhile, back when we both lived in Gulfport ...
When my Alzheimery mother was still able to go on field trips, I brought her to visit KT. It was Christmastime, and Svea, a co-worker, had given me a crocheted-and-starched angel which I'd hung from my rear-view mirror. Well, as Mom got out of my car at KT's, she unhooked the angel and brought it to KT, who still has it. Aww.