My neighbor John delivers my paper almost every morning. He usually walks, but occasionally he drives his riding lawnmower. Now that gas prices have gone down, he's driving more. John's been known to drive the little Deere all over the neighborhood. He suffered a stroke many years ago and walks with a metal brace on his right leg. His right arm is out of commission and there's a decided droop to his smile. Still, he gets around pretty well. It's nice that he brings the paper and we usually chat for a moment or two about the rain or his new fan belt or whatever. Two days ago, he puttered up the driveway and presented me with both the Tribune-Herald and one of those enormous cans of Almond Roca. Now, for most people, this would be a month's supply. Maybe several months. My grandmother could make such a large quantity last an entire year. She savored one piece in several days, saving them to share with company. I'm thinking this one will be empty by week's end. I LOVE Almond Roca and while I admire my grandmother, I did not inherit her will power. Thanks John. No really, thanks!
Now that I'm officially laid off from the winery, I'm working way more hours than I'd like and more than I did before the layoff. They're desperate, though not enough to offer me a raise, never mind all the money they're saving now that two employees are gone. It's a skeleton crew, for sure. Good thing we're not busy.
The trade winds have died out lately, leaving us with bouts of thick and not-so-tasty vog. I went to the gym today anyway. It wasn't so bad indoors.
Pippy the pip squeak decided to climb me not once, but three times today, from ankle shoulder. I was not wearing long pants. At first, I though he just needed some love. So I cuddled him, scratched his head, rubbed his tummy, listened to him purr and put him down. The second time, he seemed to confuse me for a tree. Down he went, a little faster this time and with a cry of pain that scared Hopps, the dog. The poor little fella (Pip, that is) looked bewildered. By the third ascent, I realized he was interested in the open can of cat food there on the counter. I had just fed the big kitties. So I gave him a little morsel and he was happy. It's hard to be mad at such a little guy, but man, did that ever hurt! Each puncture caused a welt. Blood oozed out and hardened into coagulated blobs atop each hive, like tiny, active volcanoes. Pippy is an excellent climber.
We've decided to forgo the Christmas tree this year. The babies are a bit too active and would be uncontrollable around dangling ornaments. We'll keep the decorations to a minimum and bring 'em all out next year, when we're all grown up. Well, when they're grown up. I don't plan to do that. Nope. Not ever.
A hui hou. Aloha!
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