Last weekend was a crazy one.
On Saturday, my daughter and I did a craft fair. Tis a good thing it was a beautiful day, because my daughter and I spent the afternoon sitting and chatting among ourselves and the other “sellers” as the place was deader than a doornail (In a church parking lot in a totally residential area). It was okay for us, we’re part timer’s who do it for fun more than money, not so much I expect for the people who do it every weekend and plan for crowds. I did decide that we need to do it together though, acknowledging that me putting up a tent and one or two tables by myself (never mind taking them from the car on my own).
On Sunday, I had Easter Dinner at the home of my darling daughter and son in law. This of course, was after Saturday night church vigil (if you know you know) and the feast afterward, a lazy Sunday morning in bed watching the Easter day service, and not much else.
As we prepared to toast before we ate dinner (I with my water glass, they with the wine), my daughter said “cheers!”, and then “Today we remember the Zombie Jesus”. When I looked at her, she said “Well, he died and came back to life!!”. I said something about zombies not going to heaven when they die and she just looked at me and said “You can’t know that”. At which point discretion being the better part and all that, we turned our religious discussion in another direction, lol. Seriously folks, my daughter is a questioner of all things still at 43, and she has a nice Episcopalian girl for a mother and a guy who was raised in a fairly conservative Catholic home for a husband (although he no longer goes to church). With only the three of us at the dinner table normally, this is her chance to ask all the questions. And occasionally pops up with what she sees as sudden revelations. Last night it was “Wait, so Jesus was Jewish, right?”
As always the long night involves about twenty conversations after the obligatory Jesus questions. Sunday night included finances (mine and theirs), Whether it was worth seeing any of the Oscar movies, If Jaime Lee Curtis really deserved an Oscar or if they thought she was done acting and gave her a gift, what the top series endings and worse TV series endings were (we are unanimous on Six Feet Under being the best series finale).
Then we talked about the field that was cows and sheep and so on when she bought the house (longer readers will remember) that is now going to be a Costco, and how they will need to move further out in a year or so, the fact that they no longer have a guest room and people will need to sleep on the floor/couch or get a hotel (craft and hobby room for him and her and fitness room), how my daughter wants to learn to use a sewing machine just so she can take the pockets off her dresses, and a few million other things.
Oh, and we talked about Lake Tahoe, and our June destination wedding plans. Where there are no Airbnbs without stairs, flights that come and go (into Reno) at six am. Oh Joy!! Yes, I have decided to fly, and yes I will be taking the good stuff as well as air sickness tablets (I took those even when I loved to fly). But I’ve decided with the cost of the party that I’ll bring my mother of the bride dress to the wedding along with it. While I need clothes and maxi dresses I just can’t justify another formal dress for two and a half days. And it will be two and a half days because most of the “action” on Lake Tahoe seems to be of the no electric cabin/sleeping on the ground or casino type amusement. Which this body can no longer handle.
While I don’t have pictures yet, I’ve taken on two new hobbies (I know, I know). I have a large collection of tin cans of all sizes ready to be painted and decorated into vases and baskets and wind chimes and such, and my weaving loom is finally front and center. Never a boring moment, I tell you.
Oh, and I started my Cymbalta two days ago. I need a couple days before I can rule on its effectiveness on my pain or on my anxiety level, but there’s definitely a little lethargy in the mix, at least so far.