“I used to work in Chicago, in an old department store…

I used to work in Chicago, I don’t work there anymore!”

It’s a rugby song. Do not google the lyrics at work, they are Unsuitable. Funny, rude and Unsuitable. It’s the first thing I think of when I think of Chicago (closely followed by “I just blew in from the Windy City, and the Windy City is mighty pretty…” I don’t know the words for that one properly). I ought to think of lovely holidays, marathons, meeting friends, going on boats, touring rural Illinois (and some of it was very rural), of N getting a PB, but no, it’s song lyrics.

We might retire to rural Illinois to brew pumpkin beer. Or beer. Or grow pumpkins. Or all of the above. It really is glorious there. And we stayed in the most sweet B&B in the Whole Wide World.  With rugs in the bathroom, and the most excellent breakfasts (which I just couldn’t finish). I am amazed I have not come back from America fat as butter. I think I may have brought a cold back, but if I’m going to have a cold, this is the week. I’ve got a half marathon to do in December, and I’ll be able to recover in time.

Here. Have some photos.

Anyhow. A list. Or I shall forget….

  • Laundry, ironing, change sheets
  • Pay in recently discovered cheque at bank failed to get to bank on time
  • Sort out tea, coffee, biscuits for Monday night’s training (someone’s coming to do Difficult Situations and People training with the Brownie and Guide leaders)
  • Parkrun, 8 mile run (if it’s just an allergy) I think it might be a cold. Mollycoddling it.
  • Sort out quilting workshop for the leaders’ weekend in a fortnight – well. It’s going to be patchwork pincushions: but I still need templates and a demonstration model. Fortunately, I’ve remembered the existence of a ton of shirting material enchanted out of a Jermyn Street Tailors “for Brownies”, so it’ll be a very cheap workshop. 
  • Upload photos from Chicago to flickr. Sort out printed photo albums for those, India and Japan photos
  • Cast on second hat for N’s Dad
  • Make stew
  • Supermarket Shop
  • Post parental postcard

And, I think I ought to get on with it.  The first load of laundry has just completed, after all.

xxx

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Sometimes, I feel lonely here

I hopped back to my old site on Xanga. It looks awful – the pretty green background is gone. The quote and the “Pink Rocks” have gone. The way you could divide people up into friends (sure, it’s nice to be friends) and subs (what I would actually read) has gone. The journals that were mostly protected don’t seem to be there anymore. It’s kinda sad.

But I also went back because I feel a bit comment light here. And, lo and behold, I was comment light there too. Which begs the question, who exactly am I writing for nowadays? Why?

My to-do lists are still epic, but usually in paper form in addition to online. I don’t write here very often – gone are the days when I had time to blog quickly at work. I now have a potential minion starting, there are that many things backed up in my to-do list and a culture of not staying late (that’s another story. I am currently endeavouring not to talk myself into a new, more senior, job title without an accompanying payrise. I’m also trying to work out the things I want to learn, properly, once the over-qualified minion can take some of the slack. Assuming we employ them. Right now, that’s partly dependent on my agreeing to change role slightly which wasn’t the original plan. I’m a bit scared that the minion’s better than me – but it’s because I’ve been so busy trying to just keep everything working “OK” that I’ve not had time to do the really interesting stuff. He’s come from somewhere with two DBAs and about 1/4 of the number of servers).

I don’t know. I’m also a bit bummed that no-one commented on my posts about N’s Dad. No. I’m VERY bummed about that. I’ll forgive those of you that I’ve seen, because, heck, it’s much nicer to discuss these things face to face. But, no-one else? Oh well. If you shout on the internet, and no-one comments, presumably it never happened.

Maybe I just became too boring for words?

xxx