Scales

Went to bed late, for us. Wary of triggering coughing, reluctant to succumb to the fits. Eventually gave in, and it wasn't as bad. Managed to sleep, took no drugs, woke up somewhat improved. Then spent the next hour coughing up the remainder of some of the stickiest phlegm either of us can ever remember from this strain of whatever it was. Took to the yard sale circuit, got a sari and kitchen scale.



The latter was still in it's packaging, which to me screams "unwanted wedding gift." We don't have a specific use in mind, but we like measuring things as a matter of interest.

All in all, though, rich in numbers but not so much in quality. Well, it's early, no matter how mild the weather. Our Saturday entertainment. D's head started throbbing, so we tidied up and came home.

Moby enjoys the mild spring, sits in the drive, or naps under the bush. Does not see why we can't just leave him there. "Just go inside yourself, leave me alone!" He hisses and complains, but we insist, and can pick him up. So he drags himself back in, with bad grace, rolling his eyes at us the whole time. Well, he's an old guy, and we indulge his crankiness.

I took the car to get some beer at the state store, then stopped at the grocery a block away for some catchicken.† Came home, put stuff away, started the kettle, realized I didn't have the beer. Not in the fridge, couldn't remember where I'd put it at all. Went out to the garage, no car. Huh. Oh

Jay is here. Left a peanut to eat-in. Just hanging out not three feet from me. So I sit still and watch. Talk to him. He watches and fluffs. A companionable silence. He knows me for an old friend. I tell him "no more peanuts today, since you only hide them if I put out more, I find them stashed around the garden, forgotten." He seems ok with this, and seems to simply enjoy the company, listening to my tapping, wondering what it means, perhaps. He preens and lets me admire him. Finally flitting off to other business.

A robin* pair chased him off, earlier. Not for the peanuts, I think. Perhaps they are making a nest. Still, great dogfight. Whoosh. Zip. Careen!


Found this How Old Do I Look site, not sure I agree with the assessment, but I can hardly complain. Personally, I think I look my age. But, at least I don't look older than that, which is good.




On the other hand, a photo from about eight years ago,



Not sure this is terribly reliable. I'm 53, for the sake of reference.

†The canned chicken, for the cats. They get good kibble, and once every day or so, they share a small can of this, instead of wet catfood. Seems to go over well, and is about the same price, or less. And has no fillers at all.

*American Robin, not closely related.