Saturday in Coldwater

A photographer came by today, selling postcards of Route 66. I bought some, partly because I thought they were pretty, and partly because I’m a sucker for photographers who are trying to make a living with their work.

I have no idea whether I’ll ever sell them all, but I like them. I need to get a wire rack to display them.

Jesus’ friend came by to give me an estimate on the ceiling work in Units One and Two. After finding out how cheap he works, I decided to let him do the drywall and rewire those units as well. He says he can have them ready for me to paint in a couple of weeks. I was tempted to let him do the painting, too, but I just can’t bring myself to pay someone else to do work I can easily do myself.

When my new contractor left, I bought some masonry caulk off of Bill and filled the cracks in the stucco. I’ll let it cure out for a day or two before I start scraping and painting.

It feels good to sit out here in Dad’s coat, listening to the wind and drinking cappuccino while Harvey puts his chin on my knee and tries to look endearing. (In case you are wondering, it is not very hard for Harvey to look endearing. He looks like a short-haired version of Lassie — all earnest brown eyes and good-natured smiles — and has a habit of snuggling up as close to his humans as he can get in hopes that someone will scratch him behind the ears.) He looks much better than he did when Joey found him a few weeks ago. I’ll try to remember to take a picture of him if he ever sits still long enough for me to do it.

— Sierra


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