COLD

Am wearing my friend Tory's black fleece which she has kindly loaned me, along with a lime green cashmere cardigan. It may be 80 in Pittsfield but here on the mountain, Fall has definitely arrived. And no way do I turn on the fucking heat and burn $$$$ oil. Yet. I shivered for two nights wearing more clothes than Maggie Smith in Lady in The Van, then got clever and found another duvet to sling on the bed AND a hot water bottle in a Liberty print I'd given to Peg years ago and I suspect never used. I loved it. Cozy and toasty and pretended it was DK's legs next to me (in floral Liberty print PJs). It stopped me shaking all night. I told Bonnie about it the next day.

"A hot what?" she said.

"Water bottle," I said. Bonnie looked blank. Intrigued, but blank. 

"You mean, like Evian or Poland Spring?"

"No, like a hot water bottle. That you fill, with the kettle or hot water tap!"

Bonnie had never heard of a hot water bottle. Making me feel awfully awfully Brit and vaguely eccentric. Whereupon I produced the bottle, which further fascinated her. I explained that it wasn't particularly "Brit", that my grandmother over here had had one. And she remained politely transfixed, like I was making this up. 

I am going to go online tomorrow and order her one.

Today, on a lightening trip to town, bought two tastefully-mouse-grey scatter rugs at Home Depot for my bathroom, now that mint green filthy carpet is up and the icy terrazzo floor revealed. They work a treat.

I also mailed off Treasury Bond info, 900 forms & bonds--certified, recorded, pony express and so on. Got the receipt. Will get a call in two days saying I filled it out wrong, guaranteed. 

And, while in Hinsdale post office, remembered my wedding anniversary coming up, so picked a card, not a great deal of choice, in fact only one "Anniversary" choice, so I grabbed it  wrote something cute and witty and loving, addressed the envelope, sealed it, then went back to the window to post it and the wheezing unfriendly asshole guy there who has about 6 more days to live before emphysema gets him says, "I need to scan your card" which is of course now signed and in the enveloped. And is the last anniversary card, but will he take a Birthday or Get Well to scan, no, even though they are ALL from the same company and ALL say $2.95--so I have to rip open the sucker so he can get the bar code. Fuck Hinsdale forever. 

Then hit Price Chopper for Murphy Oil Soap for wood floors (the best) and Spic and Span. Home Goods for rugs, as I mentioned, and TJMAXX for a belt and $12 retinol face magic cream, meaning tomorrow I will look about 12, no question, and Bonnie won't recognize me. Unless of course I appear at the door embracing a hot water bottle.

On a brighter note, the Hillbillies, my new best friends, arrived on time, finished removing carpet underlay from the den and the 6 million staples from same up io=n Red Bedroom (as opposed to the Tulip Room, Leopard Room, EBay room, Dressing Room, Odd's office, and my room) and it looks great. They made a start on the basement. A ton of firewood down there, which I am giving them in return for hours. An they will take apart the Giant Satellite circa 1975 Dish in the garden that looks like part of the Hadron Collider.  For nothing. Because I am giving it to them for scrap. 

They are really really seriously good news. Don arrived today and gave me $40 back, saying I'd overpaid them yesterday, and that I did NOT owe them another $140, as I'd thought. I said "Oh?". We then both stood there with our phones trying to do kindergarden math for 10 minutes,  both coming up with about 12 different totals.  My kind of guy.  

Seems Tammy has no teeth (I asked) because she had to have them all pulled due to gum disease, the result of smoking, the dentist said. (I texted this info to my son). She is being fitted for plates tomorrow. I asked how she could eat anything (clearly not a huge problem, judging by her size) and Don said she eats everything, even steak. Guess you gum it, like babies do. Anyhow she has the most gorgeous hands, my husband would love them. Long and slim and beautiful nails. And there she is, a junk pile cleaner and firewood cutter. And doesn't wear gloves she said, ever. I look at these two and think: Jesus. Your lives are nothing like mine, nothing, and yet--and yet--I feel strangely close to you. Granted, in an odd hillbilly toothless nice-nails sort of way. But still. They are good people. I said I was going out to dinner. Don said he doesn't go out to eat, the inference being this would be dangerous, so he eats at home. 

And so, we move on. As ever. More trouble with online banking, which I thought I had sorted, and Radio Spirits bringing out second CD of my mother's stuff, for Christmas, so had to OK cover artwork, which was wrong, and then re-title all the episodes, which they needed by tomorrow, of course, nice of them to give me all this notice--so didn't accomplish as much Archive stuff as I'd planned. There are rolls of bubble wrap everywhere. Before I found the duvet, it occured to me to wrap myself in it before bed.

I wish I knew when my return air ticket was, wish I had enough courage to make a date and book it. I had dinner with my lovely man-friend David J,  at Elizabeth's, in Pittsfield. I was weepy all the way there, and on the way home, and also while we sat here afterwards at the butcher block, him talking art and sculpture, and me being weepy. Maybe he figured I was moved by the very mention of Whistler, or Degas.