And I'm on my final countdown to Anacortes tomorrow. I'm in pretty good shape, but still have a full day of work ahead. I'm hoping to have lunch with the Blue Angels, who are in town for Seafair. I'll tell you all about it when I get back.
A reminder -- I will not be at the Tacoma Farmer's market today. Probably a little late for that announcement. Forgot to mention it earlier, but it's been in the calendar and I announced it last week too. And my pals Nicole and Paula, my neighbors at the market, know my schedule and have been so sweet to let people know who are looking for me there. I will be back next week. With bells on.
Yesterday was a parade of delivery men. Miki sent me an emergency box of her gorgeous crocheted washcloths. The tons of lavender arrived, bags as big as I am, perfuming my dining room at the moment. A new box of soap sacks, foot tools and soap dishes arrived too. The shea butter sailed in. Two more deliveries: some packaging samples I ordered -- tins and pump bottles to play with for Christmas stuff. They just kept stomping up to the porch and dropping off boxes with a loud thud all day. It makes me jump each time I hear it, and I have to drop everything and run up to see what showed up.
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I have to marvel at the technology -- that sets up cameras in the remotest wilds of Alaska, in rushing stream that's a favorite haunt for a gang of brown bears, and relays those round-the-clock live videos through several networks to right here in Seattle, which streams them across the internet for anyone to sit around watch. Like you are sitting on a rock out there in the middle of nowhere, bathing with bears, right from your own chair. It's fascinating.
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One more thing. A rant about all the cheaters, liars and fakers who think they can get ahead by fraud. I'm looking at Floyd Landis, who's used every excuse from "maybe it was the beer I drank" to "it's natural testosterone" (yeah, 11 times! more than normal) and now that it's been found to be synthetic testerone, is trying to skewer the lab and the UCI for leaking the results. I'm looking at Justin Gatlin, who's trying to make us believe a masseuse with a grudge snuck some testerone cream onto his legs when he wasn't looking. Hoo boy, that's a good one. And the jerk who is using my credit card number to make long distance calls over the internet. What, I'm not going to notice $30 worth of calls? Each and every day?!? And the fishy business I found in my email this morning -- I am not interested in wholesaling my soap to Nigeria, especially if it means setting up some sort of courier service, bank information, etc. Once I get over my general pissiness, and the aspirin starts working, I am pretty sure I will have to deal with some boundary issues. Questions about whether all this sharing has made me a target for predator types.