Monday, January 22, 2018

Mute Again

Twenty-four little blueberry mini-pies — okay, tarts — all pour moi. La vie est dure.
The demands of the generator and losing my voice again made sweet desserts essential. Yes, I’m   f—cking mute again. After three weeks of the best speaking I’ve done in two years. I can’t protect myself from things like power failures, yet that seems to be the reason for the regression.
The generator was perfect; it got so many important things running in the house. But in spite of my adaptations and how wonderfully it works my broken brain took a huge step backward. I’ll recover my speech but it may take up to six weeks.  
The Cooper’s Hawk was back and I’m proud I noticed it. I thought, at first, it was an owl. I was hoping it was because it would be a new bird on my list of birds seen.
And I bought a sewing machine. I’ve long wanted one. It’s just a nice simple machine but it’ll take pride of place in my studio. I love fabric; beautiful fabric is practical art. And for making costumes and curtains for a marionette theatre it will be very practical.
Sheba is enjoying walks more each day, particularly coming home.
When I was a teenager, three friends and I went to Laurel Lynn Riding Academy to rent horses and go riding. They were plugs, our horses; they just toddled along the trail, slow as molasses. And they’d stop to eat things, paying absolutely no attention to our instructions. The only good part was eating berries along the way.
But once we turned around it was a very different story. All four horses took off at a gallop. Doug fell off as soon as his horse bolted. My saddle slid sideways off the horse, I fell off and my foot got caught in the stirrup. I was dragged for quite a while and I thought I’d be badly hurt when we crossed the road but my foot came loose just before. Marilyn fell off before the road too and Martin fell off somewhere on the other side of the road. All four of our horses arrived back at Laurel Lynn without us and we were all limping (and laughing) when we arrived back.
Sheba’s like that; she’s a bullet on the way home.
Today Darrell finishes the studio. Tomorrow I move in. Orgasm.
Sometime soon he’ll bring up the sunroom. I doubt we’ll move right into it. I think he has work to do for other clients and I’m fine with waiting. He’s told me he’s waiting for plans and financial information from a company in Lantzville.
He and his wife, Elaine, are really dynamic; they’ll be on top of the firm in Lantzville so I can relax. I’ll hear as soon as he knows anything.

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