It’s a sunny day in the neighborhood here at the convalescent home on the hill. Yikes. We are still recovering from this respiratory thing- Steve’s 4th week, my 3rd. We both stayed home from church this morning. I took Tues. off from watching The Boys.
I’ve been in sort of a fog that last week or two. I think I’ve been away from home maybe 3 times in the last two weeks.
I managed gradually to get all the curb upholstery fabric folded and onto the newly installed shelves in the middle bedroom downstairs.
So I’m not real surprised when he and Shannon roughhouse in this pillow pile downstairs (thanks to the upholsterer) he only cries when he gets really clonked.
Every spring we get a starling or two down the chimney into the wood stove. This week that happened twice. The first was fricasseed immediately by a fire I built in the stove. The second escaped into the living room. So I had to catch the thing, and did under a clothes basket on the kitchen counter after much flopping about. Later I figured out I should’ve just opened a window. That would’ve saved me from having to sterilize part of the kitchen.
And I’ve had Marc and Judy Stuit on my mind a lot this last week, as he finishes his earthly journey. (My cousin's husband dying of melanoma.)
I’ve been in sort of a fog that last week or two. I think I’ve been away from home maybe 3 times in the last two weeks.
I managed gradually to get all the curb upholstery fabric folded and onto the newly installed shelves in the middle bedroom downstairs.
That is the stairs that Jack fell down a week ago, all the way from the top. Sean was here to pick up the boys and we apparently lost track of Jack until we heard the bump-bump-bump-bump-SCREAM! That child moves like lightening. As it turns out, he must’ve basically rolled down sideways, not end over end, and barely had any marks to prove it, like Stunt Baby.
Here he is- a pic taken by a photographer friend of theirs'.
So I’m not real surprised when he and Shannon roughhouse in this pillow pile downstairs (thanks to the upholsterer) he only cries when he gets really clonked.
Every spring we get a starling or two down the chimney into the wood stove. This week that happened twice. The first was fricasseed immediately by a fire I built in the stove. The second escaped into the living room. So I had to catch the thing, and did under a clothes basket on the kitchen counter after much flopping about. Later I figured out I should’ve just opened a window. That would’ve saved me from having to sterilize part of the kitchen.
And I’ve had Marc and Judy Stuit on my mind a lot this last week, as he finishes his earthly journey. (My cousin's husband dying of melanoma.)
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