Inching along, the spouse is having the bandage on his hand changed tomorrow, ten days after the operation for his finger contracture. I hurt myself cleaning and stoking the woodstove while trying to do everything else too, so because it’s mild outside between 11 and 13 degrees C, we are falling back on electric baseboard heaters for a while.
We managed to drive out to get banking and groceries done, as the spouse’s left thumb is not bandaged (I don’t drive), but we’ll be glad when it’s healed. I hope they managed to straighten out his finger. He avoided skin grafts at least, and has to wear a splint at night for six months, but it’s done and that’s the main thing.
Today we went for a walk in the neighbourhood avoiding most hills except one which was tense for me to navigate going downhill with my knees. However it was clear and mild and smelled of cedar and pine—lovely!
I’ve been watching too many British TV shows, I keep pronouncing garage as “gair-idge” the way they do in Britain. Rule Britannia.
QUEEN OF CLUBS
For all you opera lovers out there, Simon Drew has a charming take on The Marriage of Figaro and Carmen, all in one card. In this case, you have to pronounce “garage” the British way, or else hordes of bewigged courtiers will descend upon your house and eat all the bananas and milk.
Yikes, that’s a scary thought, bloody Mozart and an entourage rummaging through the fruit bowl. Household dogs can only do so much to protect you, pronunciation is KEY people. Bizet knew.