Regretfully Yours


I put a ribbon in my hair this morning "for extra beauty," as Olivia says, and to lift my spirits.

This morning I asked Olivia how our mutual friend, Anne, was doing.  (I get an update most days while I'm doing her hair.)

She said ruefully, "She got her temper up.  And now she's got to apologize."

Poor Anne.

I know just how she feels.  We had similar nights apparently.

For a person who hates having a hard heart, I sure seem to hang on to mine tenaciously.


My laptop keyboard is covered in fabric lint, as it has been stationed right next to my sewing machine for the last couple of days, with me intermittently sewing between blogging and working on my hospital benefit project.  (Will I finally get something to the printer today?  Let's hope so.  I've got my fingers crossed.)  It's kind of a nice tools of creation sharing a table.  Imagine the conversations they could have over lunch.  The one shaking her head (the laptop is new here) and the other shrugging her shoulders (the bernina has been here a while and knows the drill), but both of them with worried frowns creasing their foreheads.

O'Dell: Is she always like this?

Berni: What this?  This is nothing.  You should have seen her in May of 2007.  Now that was crazy.

O'Dell:  Really? 

And then Bernina would tell O'Dell about every meltdown and maelstrom and molehill-turned-mountain she ever had the horror of witnessing.

And that would be a very long lunch.

And after that, every time I got on my laptop I would hear O'Dell tutting her tongue and mumbling things like, "Some people just don't want to be happy," and "Girl, don't get me started," under her breath.

Do you want to know the worst part?

I can't even remember why I was mad in the first place.

But don't tell David.  This morning I was still pretending to be right.