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Sable of Celeste
Jan. 10th, 2025 10:02 pmThis was another day that didn't go quite as planned, but it worked out all right. I had a surprise visit with Dragonfly--surprise because although I technically knew she was coming today and had even put it into my phone calendar, my brain had decided to remember it as being next week. Oops. This morning at 8:30 she (fortunately!) sent a text saying "See you at 10." And I was like OMG. Yeah, I dashed around haplessly tidying a bit, somehow stuffed myself into garments and brushed my hair. I still felt disheveled, but we had a good visit. I was warning her I would have to be back from lunch a little early to take the Sparrowhawk to his colonoscopy, when she said she had been thinking she'd rather not have lunch today. She had plans to go out to dinner, and sensibly felt that one meal out per day was enough. So it worked out for both of us. Her departure left me just enough time to brush the snow off the car and pack a thermos cup of coffee for the waiting room. The trip was slower than normal because it was snowing steadily and the streets were a mess. We're still driving the rental car, because the service people have given us no hint of what's wrong with our car or when it might be fixed. The Sparrowhawk texts them and gets unsatisfactory answers. He will try again tomorrow.
The doctor's office was like the waiting room at a bus station. It was crammed with people still wearing their coats and clutching their bags, and it has a scheduling board, color coded to tell you what stage of the process everyone is in. I have apparently missed the leggings memo. Women of all shapes and ages now wear what are basically tights to every occasion, sometimes with boots at one end and puffy coats at the other. Most of them were Christmas-themed, and looked like Norwegian sweaters for your legs. Then there was the guy across from me wearing shorts and a hoodie. This is a Michigan form of insanity. No matter how heavy the snowstorm, there's always at least one of that guy. The Nonesuch tells me they do this in Massachusetts too. I was glad the Sparrowhawk reminded me to bring my own coffee. They have a coffee machine, but it is wretched.
Everything went along expeditiously. I brought my notebook, thinking I might do some writing, but actually spent most of my time texting with my sisters. Soon the tech called me in to assist the Sparrowhawk in drinking some pop and eating a few crackers, and then putting on his regular clothes again. I brought the car around and drove us home, slowly and with a few skiddy bits, as it continued to snow. When I got to our house, the car wouldn't go all the way up the driveway. I tried a couple of times to back up and take a run at it, but it always got stuck on the slope. This rental car has tires that are not much good in snow. My next door neighbor came out and helpfully pointed out that when he parked his car on the slope like that (his driveway, right next to ours, being much the same), his car slid back down and halfway into the street when he wasn't looking. Argh. I set to work shoveling the snow off the drive. I had to use the iron shovel to chip off the parts that had become compacted. The Sparrowhawk went inside to recover and have a bite to eat. When I had done my best, he came back out and had another try at proper parking. It took him three tries, but he got it parked on the level. I had a baked potato and some cottage cheese for dinner, and was contemplating how tired I felt, when Madame called. Aiee. I was inclined to not answer, but I did and chatted with her for a bit. She told me some strange tales--like how her husband, who has been dead longer than my father, told her this morning that she'd better move her car before someone stole it. So she had spent the morning getting that sorted out. Perhaps in her own mind, she did . . . . I exited the call, and told the Sparrowhawk I thought I'd done too many good deeds for one day.
The doctor's office was like the waiting room at a bus station. It was crammed with people still wearing their coats and clutching their bags, and it has a scheduling board, color coded to tell you what stage of the process everyone is in. I have apparently missed the leggings memo. Women of all shapes and ages now wear what are basically tights to every occasion, sometimes with boots at one end and puffy coats at the other. Most of them were Christmas-themed, and looked like Norwegian sweaters for your legs. Then there was the guy across from me wearing shorts and a hoodie. This is a Michigan form of insanity. No matter how heavy the snowstorm, there's always at least one of that guy. The Nonesuch tells me they do this in Massachusetts too. I was glad the Sparrowhawk reminded me to bring my own coffee. They have a coffee machine, but it is wretched.
Everything went along expeditiously. I brought my notebook, thinking I might do some writing, but actually spent most of my time texting with my sisters. Soon the tech called me in to assist the Sparrowhawk in drinking some pop and eating a few crackers, and then putting on his regular clothes again. I brought the car around and drove us home, slowly and with a few skiddy bits, as it continued to snow. When I got to our house, the car wouldn't go all the way up the driveway. I tried a couple of times to back up and take a run at it, but it always got stuck on the slope. This rental car has tires that are not much good in snow. My next door neighbor came out and helpfully pointed out that when he parked his car on the slope like that (his driveway, right next to ours, being much the same), his car slid back down and halfway into the street when he wasn't looking. Argh. I set to work shoveling the snow off the drive. I had to use the iron shovel to chip off the parts that had become compacted. The Sparrowhawk went inside to recover and have a bite to eat. When I had done my best, he came back out and had another try at proper parking. It took him three tries, but he got it parked on the level. I had a baked potato and some cottage cheese for dinner, and was contemplating how tired I felt, when Madame called. Aiee. I was inclined to not answer, but I did and chatted with her for a bit. She told me some strange tales--like how her husband, who has been dead longer than my father, told her this morning that she'd better move her car before someone stole it. So she had spent the morning getting that sorted out. Perhaps in her own mind, she did . . . . I exited the call, and told the Sparrowhawk I thought I'd done too many good deeds for one day.
