The day before

It’s the Day Before the Day Before.

And I’m home and still in pjs at 10 a.m., which is delightful after the full semester . . . .

Christmas cards were finished and posted yesterday, sent to corners of the USA including Portland and Philadelphia, cities in Kansas and Indiana, and of course numerous cards closer to home.  I posted a card to Clapham Common Southside in London, but the rest of my international greetings are electronic this year.

Last evening I ventured out to World Market to use a 15%-off coupon.  And I still came home with ornaments and candles and cards and a bit of international food in the amount of $115.

D was with me for a quick retail excursion, but I also needed to deposit a well-loved and much-worn trench-coat in the Goodwill donation box.  Imagine the sight: I was singing the ‘farewell to the cloak’ aria from Puccini’s La Boheme as D gently folded the coat, wrapped it in its own belt, and placed it, looking very much like a knapsack, in the Goodwill box.

Earlier in the day, another funny moment: down the street, a dozen men are working on something having to do with electricity.  They’ve been in the neighborhood for three days. So I was walking Auggie, and headed south to see what was happening.  At the edge of the sidewalk, Auggie intensely interested, I announced to the blue-collar workers (a different milieu than my normal comfort zone) that Auggie was there to supervise.

“Well, he’ll probably be better than the boss,” said one guy.

And another: “He looks a lot like the boss.”

General laughter ensued.

And then the coup de grâce: “Is he neutered?  If so, he’s just like the boss.”

I announced that it was time for us to continue our walk, and the gents laughed with mirth.  As did I.



Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s