Family

I just had a nice long talk with my mother, mostly about possible travel and about finances. It was all very encouraging, both in concrete terms and for mood and emotions. At one point she said "I'm just glad your hair isn't purple" and I told her it is, and she was quite cheerful and accepting of that.

Family

I just had a nice long talk with my mother, mostly about possible travel and about finances. It was all very encouraging, both in concrete terms and for mood and emotions. At one point she said "I'm just glad your hair isn't purple" and I told her it is, and she was quite cheerful and accepting of that.

Boring grumbles

It transpires that Old Navy doesn't believe that women's pants should have pockets large enough to hold a wallet. (At least, not front pockets—and we've all been warned against keeping our wallets in our back pockets.) So much for the idea of picking up some not-too-expensive jeans there. Which means mail order: having had two pairs of jeans die in about that many weeks, I need replacements now, and I know the Lands End ones work for me.

I have a stupid medical bill to deal with (stupid because it's something the insurance company has already paid), but the hospital has the voice mail system from hell and the voice mailbox is full.

The nice part of the day is that, after my unsuccessful clothing shopping and a quick look into Bed, Bath, and Bullocks to inspect cookware, I heard cattitude say "Pounce!" behind me. So we walked up to 23rd Street, where I saw Walter in the Flatiron Building lobby and handed him my proof pages to take upstairs, then came home and took off my shoes and my flannel-lined jeans (which are just the thing for cold windy afternoons, and too warm for indoors). And now I'm drinking tea.

Boring grumbles

It transpires that Old Navy doesn't believe that women's pants should have pockets large enough to hold a wallet. (At least, not front pockets—and we've all been warned against keeping our wallets in our back pockets.) So much for the idea of picking up some not-too-expensive jeans there. Which means mail order: having had two pairs of jeans die in about that many weeks, I need replacements now, and I know the Lands End ones work for me.

I have a stupid medical bill to deal with (stupid because it's something the insurance company has already paid), but the hospital has the voice mail system from hell and the voice mailbox is full.

The nice part of the day is that, after my unsuccessful clothing shopping and a quick look into Bed, Bath, and Bullocks to inspect cookware, I heard cattitude say "Pounce!" behind me. So we walked up to 23rd Street, where I saw Walter in the Flatiron Building lobby and handed him my proof pages to take upstairs, then came home and took off my shoes and my flannel-lined jeans (which are just the thing for cold windy afternoons, and too warm for indoors). And now I'm drinking tea.