I'm freezing my butt off on the back porch this morning, looking out at the frost in the back yard, listening to crows yelling back and forth. The other birds are quiet; I suppose they're huddled up somewhere, trying to stay warm.
It was a quiet day around here yesterday. About 12 people had showed up for our New Year's Eve supper, more than I was expecting, and I had under-estimated the amount of food that adolescent Grandchildren could consume. I ended up making another pan of biscuits mid-party, and we had a few of those and some ham left over, so I didn't need to cook breakfast yesterday. I spent the day piddling around in the sewing room - errr, studio - doing a little re-organizing and a little painting.
I don't have much of an agenda for today. The transmission shop called Tuesday to say that the Wrangler is ready. The mechanic said that it appeared that someone had had some fun in the mud in the Wrangler. I could call The Grandson today to go with me to pick up the Wrangler, but I think I'll make him wait until tomorrow. While we're there, I'll get the mechanic to caution The Grandson about "dogging" a 26-year-old Jeep with an "iffy" transmission.
I hope to do some more painting today, if "Arthur" will let me. Tuesday morning, I woke up with a swollen, sore index finger on my right hand. It is one of my most useful fingers - it rolls mouse wheels, punches buttons, picks noses - and I'm right irked that it's acting this way. There's sh*t I want to do, now that I've retired.
By the way, I intend to be selfish with time for a little while, so don't tell anybody I've retired. ;)
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