On my weekend. Can now officially relax.
So what am I doing? Today:
Washing the Digit-hurl blanket
Going out for more kitty litter (hello, procrastination)
Cleaning the house
Wandering the City, looking for yarn, hopefully getting together with a friend.
I hope to get to that fun stuff at the bottom. But I have to do the others first. First three are done or in process, fourth is high on the list, and I suppose paying the bills and cleaning can go to hell if I don’t get to ‘em. Isn’t it Annie Lamott who talks about no one on their death bed wishing they had scrubbed more toilets? Something like that. (Sick secret: I love to scrub toilets. Floors, not so much.)
Today is one of my favorite days of the year. Eleven eleven. Eleven is my favorite number and I always think you can’t go wrong on a day like today, although once I broke my foot while WALKING across the Golden Gate Bridge on this day. BUT it was offset by me being on a terrific first date that led to a terrific relationship – she came to the hospital with me and held my hand and made me laugh.
Two years ago to the day, my mother and I sat in the square in Siena (there’s only really one, and it ain’t square) and drank red wine. We felt happy, lucky, and blessed. She’d had colon cancer surgery two months prior on the same day that terrorists hit the WTC, and for these reasons we weren’t sure we would honor our plane tickets. But we did, and it was the most wonderful trip I’ve ever been on. I remember sitting in that square, as we watched the locals walk past in the lowering dusk, lifting our glasses until our cheeks were pink, toasting her health and our luck and our blessedness.
Mmmm. On that wonderful memory, I wish you a very happy Eleven Eleven!
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