103. Seven Come Eleven

 Yesterday morning Rod Stewart and I sang and danced while I put Persian cucumbers, onions and peppers in a brine in preparation for bread and butter pickles.  There isn't much to compare with his gravely voice singing those old tunes from the thirties and forties.  I have all five of what I call "vintage romance" CD's.  My, oh, my can that man croon.  There aren't many chores that I can't do faster, better and certainly happier with him to hum and dance along with.   We saw him in concert a few years back in Paso Robles, CA at the fair grounds.  It is a very small venue, a little rodeo arena, really, so you could see the sweat fly off his face.  He was fabulous!  His last five albums are, to me, definitely high water marks in a very successful career.

I finally finished Maggie's quilt and pillow cover, too.  Whew, I admire folks who quilt.  I definitely can tell you it isn't my choice for relaxation!  Don't misunderstand, I'm glad I can sew.  It is a skill that has served me well over my lifetime.  It's just that...well...I'm the "Queen of Close Enough" and it doesn't work out too well when you are quilting.  They have this crazy idea that all the corners have to fit just so and I guess I lose interest.  That's not entirely true, I just don't have the knack of making each piece the same size and that, my friends, is the rust on the razor!

Our little princess Maggie seems to  like her bed.  She doesn't get up in the middle of the night anymore, so she must be warmer.  It's a little sad when I think about it, children in half the world don't have food or a clean blanket, let alone a bed and our little dog has all that and more.  No one ever said life was fair, I suppose.  Still...it does tug at my heart strings, the inequity of where you are born, the crap shoot of birthright.  That's what it is, really.  One big crap shoot.  What a blessing it is to have rolled a seven and be born in this time and place.