Baby Guy, chuffed that things are going so swimmingly around here
Thank you, all those who have commiserated with me on the loss of my bougie backlit mirror, my extra-large battered-looking round green metal clock, and most of all, my beloved Bodum milk frother.
One of the other things "they" say is, what a difference a day makes.
I think that's actually a song.
Anyway, the day after I posted my last post, I got to thinking. I thought, maybe there is something online about fixing a clock with the problem being experienced by mine.
I typed some relevant terms into the search line and almost immediately, the answer was provided.
It was in the form of a short video posted nine years ago by a lady named Pam Corwin, who assured all who may be watching that a clock problem like mine was easily fixed.
And it was. In fact, within less than five minutes of watching the video, I had fixed the clock.
First I took it down off the wall and carefully leaned it against the sofa. I removed the thing in the middle that held the hands on.
Sure enough, just as Pam Corwin said, all I had to do was push the hour hand back down onto the post upon which the hands are mounted.
I put the minute hand back on, screwed the thing that holds them in place back on, and held my breath.
It worked. When TG got home, he put the clock back up on the wall for me.
Look at that! We exclaimed. A problem solved, without an extra one created!
But not so fast.
As in, the next morning (yesterday) I noticed that the clock had again stopped. At four-something in the morning.
Mamaw nooooo
I took it down from the wall again and repeated what I'd done the day before.
Then when I went to set it, I noticed -- again, as Pam Corwin cautioned -- that at one point the two hands scraped one another ever so slightly.
I carefully bent the minute hand out a tad bit and reset the clock using the wheel on the back provided for that purpose (because as Pam Corwin admonished, you should never change the time on such a clock by shoving the hands themselves around, and I had in fact been guilty of that).
And held my breath.
Now, more than twenty-four hours later, at this writing, my clock is still keeping accurate time.
And still sitting the floor, leaning against the sofa. I am contemplating changing the time to an hour earlier, just so that TG can put it in place and we won't have to take it back down a week from now, on fall-back day.
What say you to that? Isn't that special?
I'll tell you what else is special.
Last evening while I was preparing supper, TG went down to the mailbox and came back in with our mail.
He does that every day except Sunday. We are creatures of habit.
I noticed that there was a flat-ish medium-sized blue-and-white bubble mailer in the bundle.
The kind that comes from Amazon. Now, my TG is not prone to order anything from Amazon. That's my job.
Only, I had not ordered anything.
But he handed the package to me, and I saw that it was addressed to me.
The gift of friendship ... and frothed milk
I opened it. Guess what was inside? A Bodum milk frother.
Just like the one that our Stephanie gave me for Christmas several years ago, and on which I recently was obliged to perform last rites.
TG looked on without saying anything, and as he knew my frother had gone kaput, I realized that he thought I'd ordered a new one.
But: I didn't order this, I said.
He only lifted his eyebrows. I wasn't sure he believed me! I don't know why my credibility on such a matter would be in question!
So I repeated: I did not order this.
Okay, he said.
The kids and TG and I had been texting back and forth earlier in the day, when Andrew sent us the pictures of Baby Guy that you see in this post.
I picked up the thread. Which one of you birds sent me a new Bodum milk frother?
Andrew was the first to respond: Not it.
Audrey was next: Not I!
Erica: Not me either!
Stephanie: It wasn't me.
Brittany: It must have been a secret admirer!
So far so good
Audrey: Maybe it was Dad.
Andrew: Ordered it in your sleep.
Me: I did not, Andrew!
As surely as I knew it wasn't "Dad," I knew I had not ordered a milk frother in my sleep. Give me some credit for at least being awake when I spend money.
And then I was truly mystified.
I began a mental calculation of who, out of my not over-large but truly wonderful circle of dear friends and blogging buddies (or both), would be the most likely to do such a kind and generous thing.
A tick or two later, having intuited quickly with my steel trap of a mind who the guilty party must be, I issued an email to that rascal person.
Did you send me a Bodum milk frother from Amazon?????
Shortly thereafter, I received a reply in the affirmative. She admitted it!
A few minutes later I informed the kids via that same group text: It was Mari.
And I said to myself: Of course it was Mari. Not that any one of my other wonderful friends would not have done the very same thing, or something equally thoughtful.
But at such times, after weeding out family members, Mari tends to be the first one you think of.
Thanks again, my friend. I want to be more like you.
As I told Mari in a text this morning, after enjoying a delightful cup of coffee with heaps of frothy cream, I never knew how worn-out my old Bodum milk frother was until I used the new one.
It was time.
Baby Elliot registered his concern over current events
So the clock is ticking and the milk is frothing. If the odds are in our favor, maybe we'll get that replacement bougie backlit mirror on the wall tomorrow.
I'll keep you posted.
Meanwhile, have a lovely and peaceful -- and, I hope, relaxing -- autumn weekend.
Maybe even with a pleasant surprise or two.
And that is all for now.
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Happy Friday
