I'm not sure who wrote this on the white board in the doctors' lounge; most likely one of my children, though I can't exactly explain it. We're not going to Las Vegas. Jule doesn't know how to spell, and it's not Caleb's printing. Also, the S's are backwards. Must have been Jule, under his dad's direction, though again, I wasn't aware of a plan to go to Las Vegas... I've had a weekend alone in my house with my cat. For the most part, it was bliss. I biked to Nym Lake for a swim. I picked raspberries, ate raspberries, froze raspberries, picked the stems from raspberries and baked raspberry platz. My clematis is blooming and my tomato plants are forming tomatoes! I read and wrote and slept and did a shitload of laundry. Cocktail-wise, I made a sloe-ho (slow ho?), and loved it. Sloe gin, gin, Chambord, lemon juice, sugar syrup, egg white, and soda water. In that order. Tangy and doesn't taste of alcohol at all.
I tried to watch "Waitress" for the second time last night, but just as it was coming to the hilarious sex-with-the-doctor scene, the DVD stalled, and despite cleaning it and scanning and scanning I never could get it to play past that point. That's the last time I buy a used DVD. So tonight after a very productive day involving raspberries I rented "The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo", which I suspected might be terrifying, and I thought I was being very brave to embark on it being alone at home. Strangely in the past couple of months I have no longer been afraid when I'm home alone, even at night; I just close my bedroom door and sleep, despite the creaking hardwoods, backwashing filters, and all the other noises that used to require alert consideration. It was dark and creepy, the usual sexually violent woman-hater serial murderer deal, but I managed. Lisbeth is terrific. Must be a Scorpio.
So now I must venture to bed.
Shadow's outside, killing birds.
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