Friday morning when I went out to feed Igor and the cat, Igor wasn’t there. One of the edges of his enclosure was pushed over. So we assume that he has achieved the desire of his heart and has escaped. Joseph and I looked under every bush and rock in the yard and couldn’t find him. It seems that he’s journeying to that place where all tortoises desperately want to be. I hope he finds it.
Later in the day, my cello arrived on the front porch. In a big cardboard box. It’s not a luxury cello or anything, but it is a cello. I’ve been playing it so much since then that my fingers hurt. I can play the first ten measures or so of Bach’s cello suite. It’s as wonderful as I imagined it would be, except that I didn’t imagine my fingers hurting.
And life is going on. Still over 100 degrees here. All the boxes are unpacked, and we are settling in to the old routines here in the new place. I’ve been feeling really tired, now that the whole moving thing is over with. Everytime I sit down on the couch I nod off. It’s as if seven years of tiredness is working it’s way out of me. And maybe the heat doesn’t help either. We’re tr;ying to keep the air conditioner set at 80 degrees (the boys keep trying to turn it down cooler when we aren’t looking.) Because I’m sure the power bill will be huge.
Time to go out and water things now, in the early morning when it’s only maybe 80 degrees out there. Nice and cool.