Blowing the popsicle stand

How fortunate I have little to do and all day to do it. I was at the post office yesterday and forgot to put in my stop mail order. I calculated out this morning to get to the post office and back in time to deliver the cat to the kennel and get to my PT session by eleven.

Ha.

I couldn't cross the bridge with all the beautiful flower boxes because the railroad crossing gates  were stuck down. I spent ten minutes waiting, then turned around and detoured the fifteen miles on Riverview to the next bridge and back. Events like bicycle tours, art festivals and railroad gate malfunctions surely can disrupt small town life. The cat was rescheduled to tonight's drop off slot.

Back from the session, I had everything to do except laundry. I ate lunch, and passed out until Laura announced supper. Today was all calisthenics, plus pain left over from a CT scan yesterday. 

I'm ticking off the protocol for shoulder surgery, and yesterday was a CT scan that would be integrated into the minimally invasive shoulder replacement. But, lying on the table, the tech walked by, and without warning flipped my arm from my safe palm down to complete palm up. With warning, I could have managed it. As a complete shock, I levitated. 

Tonight's trip with the cat was amusing; we are on the route to Blossom Music Center. On a good concert night we can get from A to B because every intersection's lights are manually operated by a person in radio contact with every other intersection for miles around. 

Traffic tonight was twice as heavy, I think, because last night's show was cancelled due to electrical storms and heavy rain. I'm sure the festival grounds are as wet as my garden.

When Toby was boarded in June, for South Carolina, I arranged for a haircut. The groomer was reluctant, and put him down for a lion cut. I said if she must, but the cat truly is a complete woos, and if they could just give him a trim with the number 8 clippers, he might give over the daily hairball hack, and still maintain his dignity.

Tonight, as we put him on the counter, he encountered two old friends. The groomer, and the kennel owner, who happened in on him as he was being clipped down. "Is that cat drugged?" the owner inquired of the grooming. "No, he's just a placid cat," said the disbelieving groomer.

I will have Toby clipped again, maybe the number 6 clippers next time. But no lion cut. He does have a standard.

So, off for a week in Wisconsin. Taliesin and a Dells boat tour. And definitely hitting a couple of St. Vinney's for front button shirts.