The relative importance of things

Yes, I finally decided to redo the colors on the page here. The old ones reminded me too much of John Deere tractors, which I don't own.

We now go into that time period that civil servants love, where from now until the end of February, we're never more than a few weeks from a day off. Labor Day, then Columbus Day, then Veterans Day, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's, MLK Day, and Presidents Day. And then it's spring.

Almost.

I made some salsa last night out of the fruits of this year's growing... the jalapenos and grape tomatoes went in with some commercial tomatoes and garlic, some seasoning, pinto beans and sweet corn. No onions, partly because they don't do anything for me and mostly because I didn't have any on hand. The results were pleasant and tasty, so that's pretty much what I had for dinner. Suzanne and I had talked about doing burgers, but she was doing little annoying things and I didn't want to cook.

She sometimes has a tendency to fixate on little things that are suddenly massively important for her, and mistakenly assumes that I both know what those things are and that they are similarly important to me, too. One example was a couple of cards I'd received in the mail last week... they were from her sisters, and she was for some reason massively curious as to whether they were sympathy cards after my father's death or birthday cards for my impending birthday. Me, I wasn't all that concerned to know, but she kept mentioning them in a sort of non-directional sort of way.

Finally I had to just tell her to stop it.

"If you want to know what's in them so badly, go ahead and open them up."

"But... they're addressed to you!"

Yeah. Yeah, they are, and I'll open 'em when I'm damn good and ready. In the meantime, I didn't feel like being nagged about them.

My back hurt all weekend, as a result of carting around large bags of rabbit chow and catfud. Rather than trash my back worse than it was, I didn't do much work on the house, figuring I wasn't any good to anyone if I ripped the muscles up putting up downspouts or throwing lumber around. My guess is, she's disappointed about that, too, but well, the house has been there for 167 years. Another week isn't going to matter much to it, and not being in pain for a week will mean a lot to me.

It's that sort of stuff -- and not paper mail -- that tends to be important to me.