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

The beer with the green beard.

Sunday, Oct. 2, 2005
7:29 p.m.
I am now starting to get anxious. I tried warming up my voice yesterday and again today and, although it really is on the mend, it�s nowhere near where it should be. This is my instrument, dammit! I don�t have the luxury of cutting a new reed, or changing a broken string, or replacing worn pads on keys. If I can�t sing, I�m screwed. Just now Hubby and I tried playing through Angel Eyes as a warm up to going over some of the blues tunes, and I was so out of breath from the effort of making a tone that I actually felt faint. I�m still coughing up crud and blowing kleenexfuls of snot. I haven�t phoned the organist to set up a rehearsal because I honestly don�t know when I�m going to be able to sing well enough to bother. Shit.

In other news, yesterday I discovered a festering little secret in the cold cellar. I asked Little Princess� BF to carry down some of the apples, and I opened doors for him, and found a cooler in the storage room, a cooler that had been there since last May when our friends from Newfoundland were here for the professor emeritus conferal at convocation, a cooler which still contained the remains of two bags of ice and several cans and bottles of Irish beer, the labels and cardboard boxes disintegrating with mould. It was pretty gross. I carried it outside to the back deck and got rid of the grotty bits, drained it, wiped off the cans and bottles and washed out the cooler, allowing it to dry in the sunshine. What I�d like to know is why the one responsible, the other adult in the house with the Y-chromosome, didn�t even apologize for not having taken care of it four and-a-half months ago.

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