Stuff and its perpetrators

Handsome Son has been living here for just over a week, and I'm beginning to understand how his condo is so full of stuff. 

He's basically catering for himself, since his everyday taste in food is very different from mine, other than seeing yogurt as a major food group.  

And his food, packages and little boxes and containers have packed my fridge. He's leaving one top shelf available for me, easy for me to reach, and the rest is jammed!

It's really interesting to see that he packed more clothes and doings, including two laptops, different purposes, for a few days here than his parents did when they emigrated across the Atlantic!  Mutts says it here.

Same with his surroundings. I feel totally minimalist in comparison to all the things he totally needs around him. My own bits pretty much fit on a little side table, and he, in contrast, has to be careful to keep the floor clear of obstacles to my progress across the room.  

These are just bemused observations, not at all critical. He's been so wonderful, basically putting his life on hold, that it would be churlish to fuss. But it does make me wonder about a passing thought we had recently,  that, if the economy really plunges, we could sell the condo for the income and share this house. Hm. 

Anyway, just passing thoughts. Meanwhile I did make it up to my regular bed last night, and it was a  tricky thing. I hadn't expected a resurgence of pain, making me wonder about the whole idea. Evidently this aging body wasn't happy about the  change, and needed more pillows and ice to make the bed tolerable. 

Eventually all calmed down and I could sleep.  So I think it's okay.

I need to get going again with the crocheted top, mainly because my hands are stiff with disuse other than gripping Walker Two-step and Carol Cane. Time to move my fingers. 

This period has brought me face to face with age, I think. All my life I was always by far the youngest in family groups, and I think that feeling of youth has persisted, long after it was no longer applicable. 

Just now, being treated as a nice little old lady, emphasis on little and old,  seems to be having its effect. Reality dawning. But no complaints here, considering the alternative. I still have a lot to enjoy. 

Happy day, everyone, enjoy whatever's there. Reclaim our flag and restore, and expand, its meaning. Inclusive rules.

Fridgescaping, art, ducks, fall copper

 Fridgescaping, my minimalist take. This is after shopping. Just sayin'.

In the container at the bottom is this, cooked Saturday from Yeung Man Cooking

Here the cartoon is nice, and the quotation is everything

Art is not to make a living, it's to make a life.

And in order for our lives to continue as planned, democracy work continues. I write a few cards then rest my hand a while, then resume. I've timed it to be done in time for the mailing date.

Today's art is setup, the latest color combinations chosen, ready to stitch.

Meanwhile I went for a walk, lovely sunny weather, saw fall copper, goldenrod and some white fluffy stuff 

And at the pond, the little flock of wild ducks is back. Briefly. As soon as they spotted me, one warning quack, and they were off 

Back at the ranch, the pioneer lady is ready to make a gallon of clothes washing liquid.

 

It suits my budget and I know what's in it, no scented additives or whiteners other than what I put there. This recipe gets the laundry as clean as the expensive stuff. The container at the back is empty. It's what I use as a dispenser, disregard the label.

So that's where I am at the time of writing.

I finished Clever Girl, and find that Tessa Hadley is the only writer I've found whose novel and short story writing both work well for me. 

Alice Walker, wonderful essays, but novels not for me. Anne LaMott, great nonfiction, oh dear on the novels. Hadley, more of both,  please.

Happy day everyone! You do you.