Waiting for improvement

I had lunch yesterday with two good friends, the sort who make me realize if it weren’t for friends, how little family I would have. That may be true for more people than I realize. Children grow and scatter. Family members move away, and pass away.

I wonder if my feeling of glumness is just in the national attitude? The stock market actually worries me. I’ve lived with it for all these years, and frankly did not give a damn. Now that I am unemployed and reliant on my wits for keeping up with interest as income, I realize that weaving for a living has not prepared me for this.

Anyway, winter has not begun, and I am so over it. This year worries me, and it’s not the stock market.  I was terrified to look out the door the first snow we had. So we had a talk, myself and I. “Self,” I said, etc. It is completely OK to be cautious, but first see what there is to be cautious of.

Cathy, my neighbor, and I took my car yesterday to have the remote starter installed. Cathy dropped me back home and set out on some errands. She was caught in the secondary snow belt, west of Cleveland. She trouped on through in perfect time to take me to pick up my car. I covered my bare driveway just fine, but stopped at the last two feet that had snow. I was afraid to step on it. I need to formulate a way to test this stuff.

The YakTrax came today, and I put on the  pair. We’ll see. They slid madly on the plastic chair mat, and sunk firmly into the carpet. My probably too active brain is inventing how I will enter a building and find a place to sit and take the YakTrax off before I walk on the big clay tiles. This isn’t last year, Joanne. I’ll figure it out, I’m sure.

Back to the remote starter—I can almost remember the sequence. For the actual starter, press and hold until the car starts. Later on, get in, put key in ignition and turn two clicks to start position. Using the key is a trick and I already don’t use the key to lock my car, so the business about press lock, press unlock, press lock again barely makes sense. But once I get it, I’ll have it.

Tomorrow is Laura’s birthday. Seventeen! I’ll have to write a post soon on how she intends to spend her future.