It’s blue out there this morning. The air is thick with mist. It’s spooky beautiful; a day to be cozy, reading by the fire until it’s time to go to the ferry terminal to retrieve Doug who’s coming to stay overnight.
I’m going to the local lawyer’s office at 1:00 to file my new will. It will replace one made hastily and without much thought when I was diagnosed with AIDS in 1986. Doug arrives at 1:30 and I’ve got all I need for dinner, so we can just hunker down in the cabin for a nice visit.
Two homes in my neighbourhood have sold recently. Both are larger (read: more expensive) than mine and took a while to sell—perhaps six months for the largest one, and six weeks for the other. And two other lots have been cleared for construction. All of this bodes well for my re-selling sometime in the future.
The bitch inside me has really enjoyed reading the scathing responses in/by the press to Andrew Windsor’s interview about his relationship with Jeffrey Epstein. Isn’t it lovely that it’s socially acceptable to reference karma (whereas referencing revenge makes one cringe)?