Elgan speaks
...and her words thunder across the land

Life is a pain in the, well just above the ass.

Wednesday, Apr. 11, 2007
10:04 a.m.
It’s my mother’s birthday today, her 88th in fact. That’s quite an achievement, even if I did complain rather whiningly a few pages back about how she drives me crazy. On my way home from belly dancing the other night I stopped at the coffee store, as aforementioned, and found a tea infuser, much like the one given me by the wife of the Argentinian composer last fall, which I have wrapped up and will send her today. It’s shaped like a little cup, but is made out of gold-plated plastic mesh (and not gold-plated plastic), has a little lid, and sits in a cup or a pot. You put the loose tea in it, place it in the cup (or pot), pour in the boiling water, let it steep, and then remove before serving. I love mine, and I hope my mother will like this one.

We started up our writing group after a winter hiatus, although it’s still winter out there for us. The Volvo is dead on the driveway (again), so we are basically down to one car. Hubby had a rehearsal last night for his students’ juries and recitals and we arranged that he would drive me to the bookstore, and then I would walk over to the university and meet him there. It turned out we were both finished earlier than than expected; Janice gave me a lift to the music department and waited since I couldn’t see our car anywhere. One of the students inside told me Hubby had just left, so Janice and I sped back to the book store, where I figured he would be looking for me, but saw him not. She drove me home instead and, just as we turned into my driveway, I saw the Subaru entering our garage. Hubby had thought he would pick me up at the book store, and we had totally passed like ships in the night.

Writing group was rather sparse, unfortunately. We have a new person, but two of our regulars never showed up, and we’re all a little bit rusty. I never stopped writing, granted they’re mostly diary entries, but those I compose at the computer. It’s quite different when you take pen in hand and scribble on paper. Our newest member complained mightily that she never writes longhand anymore, everything is done by keyboard. Even so, I find I do my best creative writing with a pen in hand. I don’t know why.

Today is garbage pickup and I emptied the recycling box into the bin on the driveway. As I picked it up, I felt something misalign itself in my left hip. I fear I will be in a great deal of pain for the next few days. Bummer. This getting old thing...well, you know.

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