A three-pocket jersey isn't comfortable in a chair, so I'm wearing a
scoop-neck T-shirt to my tooth-cleaning tomorrow.

It's a factor that all my long-sleeved linen jerseys have worn out, so
I'm wearing a short-sleeved cotton jersey that, at a predicted high of
86F, isn't very comfortable on the bike, either.

Of course, this means that I have to carry a purse. This is no
problem in the dentist's chair, but will be very awkward when I stop
at the grocery on the way back.

Perhaps I should carry a jersey to change into.

--
Joy Beeson
joy beeson at centurylink dot net
http://wlweather.net/PAGEJOY/

Friday, 10 September 2021

It went the other way yesterday. I'd started an all-day ride, and
while I was looking around my first stop a couple of miles from home,
my spouse called from the car dealer to say that he needed someone to
drive the Taco home after he picked up a loaner.

"Will this interfere with your ride?"

"Nah. I don't have appointments any of the places I plan to go."

It took only a a minute or two longer to drive from Nissan to Winona
than it took to ride from Our Father's House to Winona, so I got into
the truck without even taking off my helmet. Which proved an
inconvenience later, when I filled up the passenger seat with
groceries.

Before we got to the dealer, I'd decided that as long as I was in the
truck, I'd come home by way of Husky Trail and scratch a few things
off my shopping list at Aldi. I had planed to get home at five,
sunset is at eight with civil twilight until half past, and this would
save me from finding room for a gallon of milk after I'd picked up
fifty-six cans of cat food.

It's amazing how many bags of groceries can be packed into the
footwell of the passenger seat of a Tacoma. All I put into the bed
was the seltzer and a half-full bag of heavy stuff that didn't mind
bouncing. With the handles of the bag knotted together; it slightly
surprised me that I could -- in thirty or forty years of using those
bags, it was the first time I had tried.

(I wish I knew who *made* those bags!)

(But it's very unlikely that the maker is still in business.)

It was time for lunch when I got home, so instead of drinking my
extra-strong tea, I went to bed. I slept like a rock until it was
past time to feed Dave. Luckily, us old folks keep the freezer
stocked with frozen meals for just such occasions.

While I was dressing for Take Two this morning, the phone rang: our
squirrel-chewed car was ready. I cascaded through a few changes of
plan before I remembered that the car he was going to the dealer in
was the loaner; he didn't need anybody to bring it back.

It had taken a while to find out why the air conditioner didn't work
because you have to take the front bumper off to get at the damaged
place. Repair consisted only of splicing a sensor wire and patching
the casing the squirrels had chewed through to get at the wires, but
taking the bumper off and putting it back cost a good bit of skilled
labor.

So I changed the date on my map and set off. I even duplicated the
stop at Our Father's House, because I'd forgotten a shirt that I
wanted to get rid of. But instead of looking for pants that I could
convert into riding knickers, I just cruised around the edge of the
store.

A stop at the recycling center got rid of a half-full can of spray
sunscreen, half a can of scouring powder, and two cans of foot powder.
They have a "paint room" where they give away opened packages of
things.

Thence into long-distance mode, headed for the gazebo at Tippyriver
Downs. This time the floor was reasonably clean and none of the
tenants wanted to use their gazebo, so I was able to do my sciatica
exercises. Gazebos are as good as graveyards for lying down for a few
minutes without attracting ambulances.

The front restrooms at Walmart were out of order, so I got a bit more
walking than I'd planned on. The caution tape closing the entrance
said that they were "closed for cleaning", but there was plenty of
time to clean them while I was eating lunch and touring the shoe
department, and they were *still* "being cleaned" when I stopped in
again on my way back from PetSmart.

Then a straight (as the road wiggles) line for Penguin Point. I got
there soon after five, but they could have killed and dressed a
chicken while I was waiting for my order. It didn't help that the
woman in line ahead of me was ordering dinner for twelve, and though
she spoke English fluently and had hardly any accent, she needed to
have things repeated a lot.

Not to mention that it *was* five o'clock, and the drive-through was
backed up to the street.

But Dave had been craving fried chicken for some time, so we had a
very satisfactory meal.

--
Joy Beeson
joy beeson at centurylink dot net
http://wlweather.net/PAGEJOY/