Chutzpah and sleep ahead

It’s been a long day with a camera with no pictures. My itinerary was to take Emily to work, return home for breakfast (for although I say I get up to eat breakfast, seven a.m. is not breakfast time!), back to the village to mail parcels, up the hill to the turnpike to go visit Linda, return for Emily and make a stop at the Peninsula Art Institute—all before supper.

I had a picture in mind from yesterday. Perhaps there was sunshine yesterday.  A line of deer prints across the ice on the little lake are turning into large circles as the temperatures rise. They were like large crystal pearls yesterday. This morning, at 7:45, they were less remarkable.

As we drove to work I reminded Emily this is spring ahead weekend. “I know,” she responded. “I’ll be so happy for an extra hour of sleep.” “It’s spring ahead, not sleep ahead!” After a pause she said she’d probably call me from college in two years for another explanation.

I had lunch at Linda’s, greens and beans—nothing finer—and came home in time to take a container of pearl cotton to the Art Institute to see if I could trade the director for some 8/2 cotton, as Linda and I won’t be going to Sheldon’s for a month.

Weekend Peninsula is a pure pain in the patoot. I circled twice looking for a reasonable parking place, and the phone rang. “Gramma, I’m off.” Two-thirty. Be still my heart. I went up the hill and back down to the ski slopes, to get the lift attendant I had delivered at 7:30.

“Light day?” I asked, although the slopes were packed. In fact, no. She had not been relieved for her lunch break until 2:30. As she came in from the slopes she passed Austin, and told him she would be eating her lunch at home.

On the way back we discussed management by college students. She is not impressed. I have the feeling she will plow snow for the garden center next year before she will work the slopes. She does agree it was a “real job” and worth the experience, and after I pick her up on March 21^st the ski pants can go right into the goodwill bag.

Back to the Art Institute and a parking place right in front of the door. Carol, the director, had nothing I could trade for, so I left several pounds of pearl cotton as a donation. Her weaving students were on that table of goodies like the well known duck on a June bug as Emily and I headed for home. All in all a satisfactory day, although there will be no more lime green thread until we go to Hendersonville in April.