Too much work, work, work

After the ice a couple of days ago, the snow came yesterday. I had an appointment, which I cancelled, and sat at the window, watching the snow and reading Travels in Siberia. Then thump, thump, thump and scrape, scrape, scrape, and Joe was working off my several inches of snow.

I remade my appointment, told Joe I would pay him after I got some money, "See you later!" 

"OK, honey". No, I'm not going to pull feminine rank on a probably unemployed young man who shows up and cleans my deck, steps, car and drive, and remind him my name is not honey. Well, maybe next time. What do you think.

I went grocery shopping on the way home, and Joe carried in three bags of groceries that were too heavy for me to handle, because I should have brought five bags into the grocery store.

After supper I wove a couple more towels, out of guilt, and kept reading Travels. I got up this morning with a work plan to hand. It didn't start until perhaps eleven in the morning. Travels, you know. But then I seriously wove off half a dozen bobbins of the dusty rose I'm working on now. I need a new color mixed into my stock.

That's my left shoe. I must remove it to treadle the six treadle sequence without stepping on two treadles at once. I thought my shoe was purple, but next to rose... In the eye of the beholder, I suppose.

Then, it was the new job of revamping my Facebook page, Joanne Noragon Weaver. I literally was, and remain clueless. First I deleted all the old pictures from selling in the gallery. Then I deleted all the old posts, to give myself a blank page to begin with. 

Facebook will not be so easy, because I have only one page to work with, as far as I know. But I forged on with my opening statement, and then began listing all the towels on hand. It seems they must go above, not under that statement. Bummer. 

But, I continued. For a while all the towels were under the "How to buy towels". Then, they all disappeared. I cannot find them. Tomorrow I will have another go at Facebook.

So, I ate supper and read Travels. They came out at Vladivostock, five weeks and two days in, on September 11. Frazier had to zing his readers one last time; they traveled along that river into the city that one of his great heroes had traveled in eighteen whatever; could we remember? The next morning he called his wife, who immediately said she and the children were safe. It still was September 11, 2001 in New Jersey. He and his companions had no idea.

His wife booked him on a South Korean flight, several days later, and he is boarding the plane, when I quit him tonight. Only half an inch of pages remain. Perhaps they mostly are credits. If there is much more narrative of Russian names, I'll just thumb on through and close the book.

Sadly, I could not relate to the names; could not put my head or tongue around them. Worse by far, there is no map showing their route or the names of the places they saw and camped in. My overwhelming impression is of a land of decaying, sinking buildings and trash of every description.  I cannot remember the heroes and martyrs who fill the book's pages.