Sep
30
It’s fall. I love fall. Although after the summer we had — or did NOT have, depending on where you live — it’s a bit of a non-event. But still, I am glad to see the change in seasons.
One of the things I love about fall is all the cooking: canning or putting things in the freezer for use over the winter, and making hearty, cool weather dishes again. And usually, I am making all kinds of good things with the harvest from my garden.
But not this year, not really. Two factors have made this a bum year for our kitchen garden. First, my garden was terribly neglected because of the attention required to a certain little someone. My catnapping kid didn’t afford me many opportunities to go out and tend to the garden as I normally would, and her lack of mobility meant we spent our time outdoors in places where she was sheltered from the sun and up out of the grass. So that meant, no time out in the garden, and weeds ran rampant. Next year will be much easier, because she will be able to run and play while I am out there.
The second factor that made for a less-than-bumper crop was the horrible weather. It has to have been the worst summer in a long, long time in terms of weather. It was cold and rainy, so my poor vegetables struggled to grow, and the plants that did manage to grow were either pretty blighted or had a really small yield. My tomato plants, which normally grow like crazy in their dry, sunny spot, grew to about half their normal size, yielded small sad little tomatoes, and then suffered the blight that seems to have affected tomato plants everywhere. The poor dying things tried hard, but it was not a great year for tomatoes. Basil, which also likes the sun and the heat and the dry weather, ended up all leggy and spotty. My green pepper plants barely grew, and then got overwhelmed by weeds. My onions are still out there, as I hope the extra time will help them fatten up. The only thing that did well were my green onions, which have made for a great batch of jerk.
So, I have harvested what I could. I brought in my sad little tomatoes, and left many of them to the local raccoons and skunks, so at least somebody is getting fed, right? The ones I did bring in are tiny little roma tomatoes. There’s not enough for a big batch of tomato sauce — it’s hardly worth the effort peeling, seeding and mashing such small fruit. But you know what the little romas are great for?
Bruschetta. LOTS AND LOTS of bruschetta.
So I have been making bruschetta for us to snack on, or to accompany meals, and it has been lovely. A bit of sad basil, some sweet onion, olive oil, garlic, salt and pepper, and some of our little tomatoes cut up small. It’s been delicious and really fresh. Because they’re so small, seeding them and chopping them up has been easy peasy. And despite their small stature, they still taste good. And as far as something to snack on goes, it’s pretty healthy. I buy some artisan bread from the day-old rack at the supermarket, which means we get some excellent breads at a fraction of their normal price, and toasting it in the oven means that being day-old really doesn’t matter. So we get something tasty, healthy AND at a bargain.
It’s not quite the same as life giving you lemons and making lemonade, but it’s close.
Sep
28
Okay, so, you guys know I love my daughter, right? I love her more than anything in this world. And I blog about my love for her enough that you would think that this blog, and by extension my life, is a love-filled love-fest coated in love.
However… some days real life just leaps up and smacks you in the face. “Snap out of it!!” says Life.
I hate Life for that some days. Bastard Life. Raining on my blissed-out Woodstock of Mommy Love.
Stinkerbelle is growing and developing at an amazing rate. And it is not all GOOD. Recently she has developed some disturbing new behaviours that are adding some wrinkles to our everyday blissful existence. You know, things like WALKING and INDEPENDENT THOUGHT and stuff.
It’s enough to make you cry in your beer, I tell you.
- She eats HAIR. She won’t eat actual FOOD, but she will eat hair. Some days I think I should just drop bits of food on the floor and let the cats roll all over them, and then let her cruise around and pick stuff up off the floor to eat. Because a fresh, nicely cut up banana or bits of cooked sweet potato I have lovingly placed in front of her at mealtime cause her to hold her lands aloft with a shocked look on her face like I have just placed something radioactive on her tray. But hair? ALWAYS in the mouth. I will look over at That Baby, and she will be engrossed in an Elmo video, absentmindedly flossing her teeth with one of my hairs strung between her hands. Or worse yet, she will have picked up some cat hair and put it in her mouth, and I will look over and her tongue is flitting in and out of her mouth trying to dislodge the hair, looking like some tiny black version of Barty Crouch Jr.
- We used to go in to Stinkerbelle’s room at night, and gaze down upon our beautiful daughter in her crib, watching her tiny sleeping self. Not anymore. Now, if we go in at nighttime, she has some parental intrusion alarm system that goes off. The child could be in a dead sleep, but she flips over lightning fast, up onto her knees, and over to sit on her bum or maybe to stand up, all the while talking. “Da da da da daa…” But not in an excited way or a happy-to-see-you way; more like you were in the middle of a conversation about the weather or what to have for lunch. It’s as if she just started up where falling sleep interrupted her a few hours before. And don’t even THINK about putting her back down to sleep for at LEAST an hour after that.
- She likes throwing things. As gym rats who love sports, both BDH and I are all “woohoo!” on the athletic tendencies, but That Baby heaves ANYTHING. Usually something HARD, like the little plastic mallets from her toy xylophone. And DUDE, taking one of those suckers in the face or off the top of your melon or off a bony part like an ankle or whatever SMARTS. She builds up some momentum, arms flapping madly in front of her like a little bird, mallet clutched in hand… flailflailflailFLAILFLAILFLAIL! FLAIL! FLAIL! FLAIL!… and then ffffwwwwINNNNGGGGG! The mallet flies up and over her head backwards, like a stripper’s underpants. Lord have mercy on whatever that sucker collides with. Here’s hoping it is something inexpensive, or that we have health coverage to repair it.
- Hair battles are another fun part of our day. The novelty of having hair is not lost on her, as she is endlessly fascinated with her hair. Me, I am getting over it pretty fast, and am missing the easy “bald” days. I spend, oh, I dunno, half an hour doing her hair in the morning. She looks GORGEOUS. And within the hour, she had rooted and scratched and pulled it all out into a frizzy mess. Most days I just can’t be bothered styling it because of this, but she still pulls and scratches at it. Usually, she pulls on the sides, fuzzing it out to such incredible lengths that she begins to bear a frightening resemblance to Albert Einstein. Or the Doc from Back to the Future. But that PALES IN COMPARISON to the frustration of doing her hair, keeping her from futzing with it for however long before we go out somewhere, only to have ADULTS come along and, in admiring her hair, PULL HER ENTIRE HAIRSTYLE OUT. It does happen, as unbelievable as it sounds. And I may commit a bodily injury on the next adult who does this, I tell you.
- That Baby goes to bed with a plethora of friends, stuffed animals and loveys and a rattle. There are usually one or two blankets in the crib with her as well. And she sleeps mostly undisturbed from 7 pm until we go in at 7 am and get her out of her crib to start the day. But occasionally, we will hear an ungodly SCREAM at some ungodly hour, and we’ll leap out of bed and rush in to see what has happened. And there we will find our daughter, standing in her crib, shrieking and crying real tears of upset and distress and desperation. Because she held Mr. Ducky or Mr. Bunny or her blankie over the side of the crib and let go. AND IT WAS GONE. One, why the hell is she standing up and playing at this time of the early morning? And two, WHAT DID YOU THINK WAS GOING TO HAPPEN, child? Gravity is a cruel mistress, for ALL OF US.
Don’t get me wrong. I LOVELOVELOVE being a mom and she is like the most perfect child I ever could have imagined… most of the time. And I thank my lucky stars to have been blessed with this most wonderful of children. Other times, she does crazy normal nutty baby things. And those are the days where I just throw up my hands and go, “Child, what the HELL are you doing? What PLANET are you FROM? Now be a good girl and pass me my bourbon. Mommy’s going to need a LOT of medication today.”
Sep
24
We are slow at picking up mail here at The House of Peevish. Usually we get junk mail and bills, and who wants to trudge to the mailbox every day for THAT? Not I. (Possibly That Baby, but she’s nuts for the Outsideland just now.) So we leave it for a week or whatever.
But this week, I was out walking That Baby and thought, “Meh, what the heck. I’ll check it.” And I am GLAD I did, because with all the bills and flyers there was a lovely surprise.
Kirsten sent us out some squares and a wish!
Now Kirsten is another friend who I have met through this whole Internets thing. She had been reading along with our adventures here, and one day decided to comment… and from that point on, we have emailed back and forth. It is amazing what we found we had in common.
Kirsten is in the midst of a long wait to adopt from Ethiopia, but like many of the adoptive parents I have “met” on the Internets, she seems to have it all together. She’s funny and bright and keeps a positive attitude despite the many stresses that come with this process. So, it was no surprise, then, when I opened the parcel from her to find a bright, sunny piece of gingham:
Now, who doesn’t love gingham, I ask you! It’s just so cheerful and homey. It’s the most comforting of fabrics.
But along with the gingham, Kirsten had prepared something gorgeous and crafty to add an incredible personal touch to That Baby’s quilt. Have a look at this!
Isn’t that incredible! What talent she has! I was so touched that she took the time to do something so beautiful and intricate. It will be a special square for That Baby’s quilt.
Now, I am not so much one with the craftiness. I knit, and I have been known to sew, BADLY, on occasion. But Kirsten not only embroiders, she makes lovely wishes too:
So pretty! (I am embarrassed to say that I have no such skills, and the wishes I sent out were so plain by comparison.) And, because I have strategically placed the card to hide Kirsten’s name and preserve her anonymity on Teh Intertubes, here is what the wish said:
“We all have the extraordinary coded within us, waiting to be released.”
My wish for you as you grow older is that you will always believe in yourself and the potential for greatness within you. I have always believed that the only person who stands in the way to fulfilling our dreams is our selves. If you have faith in yourself, there is nothing you can’t do.
Isn’t that wonderful? Who doesn’t want their child to fulfill their dreams? It’s the perfect wish for our dream baby.
With these, she had included a little note about the fabric, which was really cool. Both pieces came from items that had some significance in Kirsten’s life, which added a really lovely personal touch to them. They will be fun stories to tell Stinkerbelle when she is older.
The package we got from Kirsten was such fun to go through. All these wonderful items, all in one package! And all because Kirsten decided one day to make a comment on a post.
So thank you so much, Kirsten, for the lovely package and for the friendship over these last few months. Both are so very greatly appreciated!
And, as a lesson to all of us out there who lurk but never comment: Go ahead! Take the plunge! Comment! You never know what wonderful things will come of it.
Sep
22
Well, it is official… creditors and families have voted overwhelmingly to revive Imagine Adoption. And with that, the hopes and dreams of so many adoptive families, waiting so patiently and working so hard to adopt from Ethiopia and Ghana and other countries, have a chance to come true.
I am so happy for them.
I am also so happy for the children whose futures now include a family who will love them and raise them to help their dreams come true, too. So many bright futures for so many wonderful children!
The news also means that if ever we decided to adopt a sibling for Stinkerbelle, we now potentially have the option to do so. And that’s kind of cool.
I love it when there’s good news to start the day.
Sep
18
Eddie Izzard, one of our favourite people in the entire world, has just finished running 43 MARATHONS IN 51 DAYS to raise funds for Sport Relief (which is a branch of Comic Relief, one of our favourite charities in the entire world).
I’ve been following his journey on Twitter and it has been remarkable. He literally ran AROUND the UK… and rescued a kitten en route! The man now truly OWNS the title “action transvestite”!
Way to go Eddie! Hell of a feat. Not to mention, hell on the feet.
Sep
17
Okay, gather ’round, fellow babies. For I have a story to tell you.
Once upon a time, there was a woman who had a baby. (A FANTASTICALLY GORGEOUS AND HAPPENING WOMAN, just so you know. And also? BRILLIANT. But I digress.) And that woman decided to make her baby a 100 Good Wishes Quilt. (This despite the fact that this woman has, like, next to no friends and doesn’t know 100 people, but hey. Hope springs eternal.)
Now this woman also has a blog, read by at least, say, one or two people out there on Teh Interwebs. And on this blog, she wrote about many things, most of them of no interest or import to the world at large. But one of those things was her quilt.
One day, she got a comment from a stranger. This stranger was named Carmen, and she was from Spain. She said she was also adopting, and would they like to exchange squares?
Now, the woman knew that the Intertubes were chock full of crazy people, and normally she would have just ignored such a comment. But there was something about this woman Carmen that made her think maybe it would be okay.
So she emailed Carmen, and they agreed to exchange squares.
And that started a very nice friendship, that lasts until this day.
The End.
Gripping stuff, right? Well, I agree. And it is all TRUE.
I know!
Squares #16 and #17 came to us quite out of the blue, from someone who is, in fact, named Carmen and who does, in fact, live in Spain, and did by some chance stumble upon my blog and suggest we exchange squares. And that was the beginning of what has turned into one of the best parts of this whole quilt-making adventure, because I have made a new friend.
Now, Carmen is one of those people who you just know has it all together, from the minute you begin talking (or in our case, writing) to her. She is funny, and well travelled, and always has something kind to say about what’s going on with you or your life. And this is despite the fact that she is going to be a single mom, and is currently in the midst of a torturously long wait for a referral from China. I mean, a 3-plus year wait. And yet, she always has something nice to say about what she has read on my blog, or to take an interest in what’s going on with That Baby. I know I would be curled up in a corner rocking and crying after a 3-year wait. But not Carmen. She’s just one of those people who seems to really take an interest in her friends’ lives.
Case in point: shortly after we exhanged initial emails — and I am talking within a week or two, here — we got a package in the mail. We opened it to find this:
Isn’t that ADORABLE? I was thrilled.
Carmen said she knew that while I was waiting for That Baby, I had a thing for giraffes. And sure enough, she went out and got this bright, sunny, baby-friendly fabric with giraffes on it.
SO PERFECT!
But it was also around Stinkerbelle’s first birthday, too, so out of the package dropped this little treat:
I know! SO CUTE! I started to cry. But if THAT was not enough, her wish for That Baby was also so gorgeous:
Now, I am not at ALL crafty. Ask Carmen or Shannon or anyone else that I have sent out fabric to — my wishes are all plain and boring. This? This is going IN THE BABY BOOK, man.
So if that were not enough, over the summer, Carmen went on vacation to Norway. (I know, right? Doesn’t she ROCK with all the travelling? I am jealous. But in a good way.) And shortly after, I got this:
She said she saw this while she was travelling and thought of us. Being the cat person I am, I loved it. Enough that I thought, “Ooooh, I could decorate a ROOM around this.” Just gorgeous. And a wish to match:
It’s a lullaby in Spanish for That Baby. So now, we will need to teach That Baby some Spanish!
See what I mean? Carmen’s just thoughtful like that.
So, thank you so much Carmen, for the fun, bright, thoughtful packages, and the lovely wishes for our daughter’s book. It will be fun to curl up under the quilt with her one day, and look at all the fabrics and wishes from everyone, and tell her that these ones came quite unexpectedly from across the world from someone who we are very lucky to now be able to call a friend. And a friend who we are wishing and hoping that will one day soon gaze upon the face of her beautiful child.
And the moral of our story? Even though there are a lot of crazy people out there on the Interwebs, if you are very lucky you will meet some wonderful people who could become friends. And if you are luckier still, they will be as awesome as our new friend Carmen.
Sep
17
I still have a post to make about some more lovely quilt squares, and I will do that later today. But I just saw in the news that Henry Gibson died this week. And I am a little sad about that, and so I wanted to make mention of him.
Now, you probably don’t know who Henry Gibson is — unless you are a Laugh In fan. (He did many, many more things, but character actors tend not to be as name-recognizable as your pretty Hollywood stars.)
But if you know Laugh In, then when I say “A poem, by Henry Gibson”, you will know exactly who I am talking about.
So in his memory, here’s one of his poems, that I had on a big poster on my wall all through high school and university. It got lost by my father when I moved to Japan. I have always missed it since.
It’s Not the Same Without Pelicans
It’s not the same without pelicans, you know?
I mean, dinosaurs… Well, they’re too big to miss…
And besides, it was their own fault.
But we all grew up with pelicans!
I hope the ducks hold out.
I hope they bury Mr. Gibson holding a big flower.
Sep
16
So, I know there are those of you who have come here to read the latest adventures in my slipped back joint hokey pokey, or to find out what That Baby has licked today. But I have been terrible, TERRIBLE I TELL YOU, in keeping up to date with my Quilt posts.
I am, in fact, a procrastinating bastard.
So if you are here to read about That Baby or her kitty (who this morning pooped a hair elastic) then I am sorry to disappoint you. You can go and do other useful things and come back in a few days and life will go back to surreal.
But for NOW? Lookit US, we are getting ORGANIZED. And I am getting CAUGHT. UP.
Now, fortunately, because of the generous good nature of some of our quilt participants, this will be an easy task. Because the next two people who sent us squares sent us MANY GOOD THINGS! So catching up will be easy.
First up are squares 13, 14 and 15, all from my friend Joanne.
Now Joanne is a friend that I had the good fortune to meet when we both worked in HELL.
TWICE.
But we survived through good humour, which Joanne has in spades. She is also very creative and artistic. And she is not afraid of COLOUR. Oh no, she EMBRACES it. And she is a cat person of the best kind.
It is safe to say that Joanne rocks on many levels.
Joanne, one of the few people invited to our little wedding 6 years ago, threatened to wear orange, her favourite colour. And I told her to BRING IT. Because this? Is the fun and merriment and life that Joanne brings to a party, and this is what we love about her.
So it was no surprise when, in the squares she sent along for Stinkerbelle, orange was front and centre:
Each square came with a little bit of a story, which are just as funny and quirky and full of life as the woman who sent them. But they are personal, so I am not going to share here.
The wishes, however, are wonderful, and should be shared with everyone:
“My wish for you: a life lived exactly as you choose it. But, if you ever have to compromise, make sure you negotiate something that will make you happy.
Wish number two: the confidence to be happily who you are.
Wish number three is that you’ll laugh and play whenever the opportunity presents itself.”
I love them. They are exactly what I would wish for our daughter, who barrels joyously, loudly and without abandon through life. And what I want her to do, always.
So, thank you, Joanne — after years of understanding and encouraging these things in me, it is wonderful that you have now passed their magic on to my daughter.
And for splashing a little more orange into our lives. Because who doesn’t need a little more orange?
Sep
11
One year ago today — 525,600 minutes ago, lots of daylights and sunsets and midnights and cups of coffee ago — we met our beautiful, incredible, wonderful daughter for the first time.
And from that moment on, we have measured our life in love.
Sep
8
Okay. So when was it, exactly… when was the exact moment that I lost my mind? Because I don’t recall.
I used to be cool. I used to be thin. I used to be stylish, and edgy, and popular.
Okay, I never was any of those things. At all. Alright, I WAS thin, but I have a face like a death mask when I lose too much weight so, you know, it was not a good thing.
But DUDE. As a mom? It’s like that whole other life never happened. At all. You were just plopped down on this earth — BLADANG! or maybe SHABLAMMO! even — and you are in the midst of Momdom and it is totally weird. And you can’t remember it ever being any other way.
Today, for example. Today I periodically had to stop and quote Talking Heads to myself. “And you might ask yourself, HOW? How did I get here?”
And with a bad back, well let me tell you sister, it is just a BUNDLE of LAUGHS. I’m at that part of the back injury show where it is really painful but not enough to, you know, curl up and die or anything, not even enough really to just lie in bed dosed on some lovely drug, or even enough for your husband to take a day off work to help you take care of things around the house. It hurts, but in a you-have-to-just-suck-it-up-and-do-stuff-or-it-won’t-get-done kind of way. And I am spending my day walking around on ceramic tile. And I am doing this surreal back injury hokey pokey whereupon periodically your back goes Tuh-WWWAAAANNNNNGGGGG and you do this bizarre full body jerky dance move to compensate and make it not hurt anymore. And then you walk around a few more minutes until it’s time to bust a back injury move again. TA-WAAAANNNNNNNGGGG!
Good times.
Meanwhile, my daughter is sitting over on the tile floor, spitting. SPITTING. With the sole purpose, apparently, of ACCUMULATING A GIANT PUDDLE OF SPIT ON THE TILE. And our cat, Duncan, he of the formerly little sweet baby boy voice, has suddenly started channelling Opus and is talking in SENTENCES. “Mrow mrmrmrmr MEOW mrow meow MEE-OOW.” As he is running by, like he is late for a meeting or something.
So it goes something like this:
“Ptui! Ptui! Ptui!”
“Stinkerbelle, NO! Stop that!”
“Ptui!”
“Stinkerbelle NO!”
Trot trot trot…
“No!” Ta-WWAAAAAANNNNGGG! “OW!” *insert cussing*
Trot trot trot. “MEOW! Mrow mrmr MWOW meow!” Trot trot trot.
“DUNCAN! I MEAN IT! Get out from underfoot right…” Tuh-WWWWAAAAAANNNNGGG! “OW! Ow owOW!”
*insert expletives*
“Ptui! Ptui!”
“Stinkerbelle! NO! I am SERIOUS! NO!”
“Meow meow MRRRROW mrmrmr meow.”
Trot trot trot thunkSPLOOOSH! (the sound of Duncan knocking over my glass of ice water)
“DUNCAN! BAD BOY!”
Ta-WAAAAAAAANNNNNNNGGGGGG!
“OWGODDAMMIT!”
“PTUI!”
So, yeah. Life is good. It’s so good, it’s a full feature length romantic comedy of good starring, oh I dunno, somebody a hell of a lot more sexy than me and with one of those charming beguiling smiles and really good hair. Who can also cuss like a stevedore. And bust a move a la Elaine from Seinfeld periodically to indicate back injury is happening.
Is it any surprise I catch myself thinking, “Dude. Is this REALLY my life? Really? Really REALLY?” It’s certainly not what I pictured Mom Life to be. It’s definitely messier and a lot more cartoonish than I imagined myself as a mom to be. I mean, there is potential there, when you get past the unshoweredness and the yelping in pain and the spitting potato-bouncing children and domesticated animals running roughshod all over the house.
Well when you put it that way… Yeah. I can see it. Delightful Sandra Bullock Kate Hudson rom-com I AIN’T.
I wonder if the movie is going to need a disclaimer at the end saying “any resemblance to actual people is purely coincidental”.
But I am sure it has a happy ending.
*Edited to include a link to Elaine dancing because it makes BDH happy.
Sep
8
And now, back by popular demand (well, Janna asked, anyway. Shut up.) I give you… my PESTO RECIPE! Ta daaaah! *insert fanfare*
Okay. So it’s not actually MY pesto recipe. But it is the one I use, and it works well.
And, because I don’t have as pretty a garden this year — the weather being CRAP and all — I also give you pictures of last year’s bounty. My harvest this week will be more anemic-looking, but it’s still bountiful, so I will get a good batch of pesto. And because I have a ridiculous crop of green onions… more jerk! (We had our first taste of this year’s jerk last night and OH MY DOG. The closest chicken has gotten to heaven in a long time.)
I am glad it will be a cloudy week. I am looking forward to cooking.
Good doG how I love fall!
Sep
7
Whoa. It’s been a time here at the House of Peevish. Bubby has left the building, and as she has moved on to bigger and better things, so do we.
(Actually, what she has moved on to is, I think, haunting the other cats and That Baby. Everyone has been displaying distinctly Bubby-like behaviours since her departure, and in general acting like weenies. So either she is haunting them — AND I WOULD NOT PUT IT PAST HER — or at the very least, she had a quick word with each of them before she left and left them explicit instructions. Being a weenie from beyond the grave — it’s her style.)
But the past week or so has caused us to take stock of things. And we have decided to get some things done. Lots of things. Moving things. Cleaning things. All sorts of things.
And then on Saturday, I threw my back out. And so, as I sit in my chair, it has been mostly BDH who has been doing things.
(Bah. I am sore and peevish. And feeling like an arse because I can’t do much to help BDH in his quest for order.)
There are all sorts of tasks that we’ve been wanting to accomplish, and for whatever reason, Opus’s death has kicked us into gear and we decided to do some of them. Or maybe it’s the onset of fall that’s done it, opening the windows and letting the cool air and sunshine in. But whatever it is, we’ve been cleaning and sorting and organizing like crazy.
Okay. BDH has. Whatever.
We put thousands of photos into albums. We washed and folded lots of laundry. We cleaned and put away Opus-maintenance items like her cage and her blankets and her litter box. We reorganized furniture. We made (or planned to make) food from the produce in our sadly neglected kitchen garden, like jerk and pesto and tomato sauce, which will then go in the freezer to be enjoyed all year.
We’re getting our lives in order, too. We got a calendar, one of those dry-erase deals, and put it up on the kitchen wall, so we can track appointments and Stinkerbelle’s swimming lessons and garbage days and whatever else. We started off a personal fitness challenge. We’re scouring websites and cookbooks for new or healthier or more interesting or more budget-friendly recipes to try. We’re making checklists. We’re imposing order on chaos.
It has been nice. It has been some change. Change is sometimes good.
The only problem? With all this moving and changing, there will come a time, hours or days or weeks from now, when one of us will go, “Have you seen my X?” And neither of us will have sweet fanny all of an idea where the heck we put X in all our flurry of cleaning and futzing and moving.
But it’s okay. Opus moved on, nice weather moved in, and we got moving. It’s all good, in its own way.
