Black Friday. Purple Saturday. Black Ice Sunday.

[captainsblog]

Eleanor worked Friday, in the only store I set foot in the whole day.  She got out a little early because Wegmans was relatively dead.  I knocked off a workout first thing, did the food shopping, stupidly decided to down a half bottle of OJ to get a vitamin C boost, and about an hour later remembered, derp, there's citric acid in there.  It was a quiet afternoon after that; I worked on some of my sudden pile of bankruptcies, listened to the Sabres do quite the number on the Maple Leafs, and we chilled with pizza after Eleanor got home.

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I'm calling yesterday Purple Saturday, because it's the day I discovered this mashup:

"The Count sings "Start Wearing Purple" (Gogol Bordello)" (Watch on YouTube)

We've always loved the song used in it, but I only now discovered the source of the "wearing purple" line; it's this poem, which also appears to be the source of the Red Hat Society symbol:

Warning

Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn’t go, and doesn’t suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we’ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I’m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people’s gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Another morning, one final workout. I get eight I can go to in a month, and they're use-it-or-lose it; despite missing two weeks at the worst of this bug, I got five in during the final eight days- that counts as a Hell Week in October.  So only one went unused, and I tried signing up for a friend's final class at another studio in hopes he'd get credit for the class.  We then headed to East Aurora for the latest show at the gallery Eleanor hopes to exhibit at. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful exhibition. Ray Bonilla is Queens born but Buffaloved, as can be seen in his works, including this very familiar-to-us one:



(We picked up the catalog of the entire show, as you can.)

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Then came December. Usually Sundays begin at the local dog park, but they'd promised icy roads this morning and they were so not kidding.  Our usual buds opted for the closer state park, and after considerable slipping and sliding, we trekked round for just over half an hour before Ursula decided to run home herself. (She got home fine.)  I've been in ever since, listening to Dar Williams, catching up on time entries for work, and reading the paper; here's a panel from this morning's Peanuts rerun, from 1972 but quite timely since NaNo just ended yesterday (I did not participate):

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Pass kind thoughts to/for us tomorrow. Eleanor noticed that Zoey has some kind of growth under her tongue; we only really notice it when she yawns, and it hasn't affected her appetite, playfulness or furry-purriness much if at all, but she was due for vaccines this week anyway and so Eleanor's bringing her in first thing tomorrow to have it checked out while I'm in court. (Evil Cat, who will never get sick and never die, usually goes with her, but I get that pleasure for her shots on Wednesday.) She's always been a little on the runty side, very sensitive to fragrances and some foods, but she's made it to 10 and it would be just evil and wrong if she were to be taken too soon.

So hope for a Healing Monday.