This weekend I dragged the dude thrifting. When we were in the car traveling between the first store (mostly furniture) and the second (not the best) he did question why he was on this particular journey. After the second store, where he sat in front of the shelves of books, it wasn't so hard to motivate him. I was in it for the wool sweaters.
I'm taking an online class with betz white, author of warm fuzzies, on working with felt. Directions for our first project will be handed out on Wednesday. (Happy Birthday to me.) I can't wait.
Our Sunday dinner this week was a little exciting. Not in the fun and interesting way it was last week when we saw David Sedaris read. First of all, we got to meet my sister's boyfriend. As she will tell you, she has been dating for well over 20 years. This is only the third boyfriend I have met. He is the second one named Greg, which, if you think about it, is unlikely. Especially when you check out the SSA and see that the name peaked in popularity in the US in the early 60s at #77. He was nice, and he clearly makes my sister happy. (He looks like a much more fit Andrew Zimmern and has a big personality like him.) But the really big excitement was much more fitting of David Sedaris.
The three family dogs attend dinner. All three are all or part terrier. The household also has a gerbil. I don't think I have to tell you the whole of this story. It ends with a little girl in tears. In the end, I would have been a lot happier not to have been the one to stumble on the scene and break the news to my cousin and, inadvertently, my niece. The only thing that made me feel the least little bit better about the whole thing was when I told the story to my mother she was entirely unsympathetic to my nine-year-old niece. Is that bad? That I made myself feel better by thinking I'm not as cold-hearted as my mother is? She did redeem herself by remembering when my sister's guinea pig was eaten by the dog that lived across the street--given entrance to our house by my mother--and saying that no one felt worse about the whole thing than she did, having given the dog the opportunity.
If I had learned anything from listening to David Sedaris last week, I could have probably put together a hilarious and moving post about this. Or maybe not. It took him 40 years to write that story about the loggerhead turtles he held captive and fed raw hamburger as a boy... Look for my collection of essays in 2049.