The last(?) of the apples are peeled, cored, washed and sliced into my stainless steel cauldron. I put the lid on top, turned the burner on medium, washed only 3 steel bowls, and took the bucket full of waste out to dump onto the compost pile.
There’s a light rain and slight wind bringing the leaves off the trees. I haven’t seen an extra pretty Autumn this year.
Maybe the weather or temperature wasn’t making ideal conditions, not like in years past.
The whole time I was working alone in the kitchen, I played my Beth Nielsen Chapman (Wikipedia) cds, three in a row. Looking over at her official site, I can see she has a couple others not already in my possession. There’s incentive for me to get a paycheck job—money without guilt for the extras I’d love to have. Trouble is, when I’m working at a job, I don’t have time and energy to listen to my purchases.
Anyway, one of the reasons I listen to this artist when I’m alone is because my housemates tend to think her style is somewhat of a downer. She sings about strain and loss and how hard it is to get up and keep moving on. And I can’t exactly say why I wanted to hear her today, but three in a row in the stereo.
I’ll talk a bit about my weekend.
Every time I went to Latte Time, all last week long, I would see flyers on the door and the customer side of the cash register, announcing that Glenn Wilson would be playing there on Saturday night. I know Glenn and his wife and kids from church, so I really looked forward to being there! On the flyer was an illustration of Glenn playing his saxophone, a really good drawing. I went over to Jazz Maniac, but cannot get the pertinent illustration to copy correctly. It was drawn by the same artist who does the comic strip SHOE.
I asked the owner’s wife if I could claim one of the prints after the concert was done. She promised, so there was even more incentive for me to be in the audience.
Saturday morning I volunteered to work at the church building during the Red Cross Blood Drive. I also put my name on the list as the last appointment so that I could donate. It turns out that I was not able to, my iron is only at 37. While that is an increase from August when the hematocrit was 34, the requirement must be 38 to donate. I cannot believe my disappointment. The nurse mentioned that tea has tannic acid, which is known to inhibit iron uptake. If that’s the case, I’ll never donate again, cuz I ain’t giving up my morning cup of Red Rose Tea! Before the prescription for Synthroid, I was donating blood every other month, so I don’t think the problem is my tea habit.
There was another woman also with a lowered iron count, and she said she didn’t feel so bad since she wasn’t the only one turned away. Small consolation for me.
We did surpass the goal and finished with 31 units. The Red Cross workers were very happy—they expected only 20!
Mahalia and I took a nap on the couch in the afternoon. I’m not sure how I expect myself to go out and work again full time, when 4 and 1/2 hours on a Saturday morning had my legs aching and my head pounding. I am so much out of condition, age and medications ain’t helping get better either. I’m still walking 20 minutes a day, but finding it harder to pull together a good reason. There are only so many trips to the post office.
Down at Latte Time, I walked in and found a table with the overhead light still on. I wanted to be doing my crochet work, but true to tradition for jazz in a coffee shoppe, the owner set illumination low enough for nightstalking vampires.
There was a nice little crowd, mixed ages. One neighbor from down the street asked how I happened to be there, so I pointed to the flyer and said that drawing was great advertising. My status also raised a bit when first the shop owner’s wife sat with me awhile, then the entertainer’s wife dropped into the empty chair at my table.
Glenn, of course, played just beautiful. He had a friend along with an electric cello, which I had never known existed until that minute. The tunes were sweet, just right for a coffee shop on a Saturday evening. I wish my dad was around, he loved saxophone notes.
While the guys were putting away their equipment, I hurried out to take down the paper announcement, removed the tape, and was about to put it into my bag. Glenn asked if I wanted his autograph.
Well, sure, but write around the nice drawing and the shop logo. He put the date, just to be sure of authentication, I guess.
As if I would let go of something so good.
It’s in a page protector in a scrapbook!
Now, while I’ve been writing for you, the applesauce has been bubbling along quite nicely. It is just about thick enough to add the sugar and put into containers.
What are you listening to, and why?
~~love and Huggs, Diane
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