OfficeMate and I have been looking for a table since we moved into our new apartment. As wonderful as eating on the floor has been, and as useful as moving boxes are as tables, the novelty started wearing off earlier this week. We found some interesting tables, a two-seater diner booth ala-Seinfeld (which I wanted SO badly) and a conference table on Craigslist.
I contacted a nice man named Cliff regarding his table, and the next thing I knew I had an appointment to see it yesterday evening. It was dark by the time I left the office, and pitch-highbeams-were-necessary black by the time I reached this man's house. He lives at the end of a dead end, up a massive driveway that led me to a secluded house. I parked, hesitantly, and looked up when I heard barking. There was huge german shepherd tied to a tree, barking at me, not five feet away. I texted OfficeMate and let him know that, if I died, he could have Planty.
Luckily, Cliff was a nice retired man with a nice, affordable table and two chairs that have been expertly packed into my backseat and trunk.
I've become 75 in the past few weeks. I have dinner ready by 6:30p or so. I watch the Nightly News, Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, and knit in my old woman chair. My knitting skills are not what they used to be, as my scarf has slowly been morphing into what OfficeMate has dubbed a cape. Which, sadly, is an accurate statement.
Kitchen Lovin'I love our kitchen. It's small, but it's the one room in our apartment that I'm content with. Why? Because it's pretty well stocked with food and supplies, and it allows me to make tasty food. I have begun cooking up a storm and it's glorious. I've missed cooking.