Feeling definitely better...
I am holding the fort for the last hour of today's store hours, while Drew takes Brady home and picks up Huntür and Shannon along the way. Natalie is at home putting dinner together (leg of lamb and whatever else... it's going to be dreamy, methinks). Galina is resting; she wasn't feeling very well this morning.
I spent the better part of the work day cutting plywood for three crates to be used to ship oil paintings belonging to a client who used to come to the ham breakfasts before the altitude got to him. We've been putting this off, and putting this off, and finally I promised the guy the paintings would be shipped by the New Year. As of the time I left for the store, I had cut all but four side pieces and had started to asesmble the one crate that I'd created all the parts for.
What made the job even more difficult was having the client supply his own crates, which were in no way up to the job of transporting a painting halfway across the country (they were too small and would've required a lot of work to enclose the sides, which were effectively open). The difficulty involved wasting a bunch of time to see if somehow the old crates could be incorporated into the new ones, which could only really occur if one was willing to have basically no clearance around the painting.
The phone rings fairly regularly during the last hour of the day. Could someone explain to me the workings of a mind that calls with a question and then turns out to be completely unprepared for the answer? This guy called a little while ago and asked if we have a fax service. I said yes. He then rephrased the question by asking whether we had a fax number someone could call to send him a fax care of our store. I said yes. He then fumbled and mumbled for a while, eventually telling me he was looking for a pen with which to write down the number.
The only logical explanation I can come up with is that he fully expected me to answer "no" to his original query, but this kind of behavior (or a variation, as in the case this morning where a woman called, opened the conversation with "What's the phone number of the main post office?" and interrupting my recitation of that number to give her time to get a pencil) occurs too often for incorrect expectation to be the answer.
Natalie leaves tomorrow and must be on the road by about 10:00 am or so, else the pucker factor starts to increase. I assume Galina will be driving Natalie back to Albuquerque, and that I will be in charge of crates and other weirdness.
I am looking forward to dinner.
Cheers...
I spent the better part of the work day cutting plywood for three crates to be used to ship oil paintings belonging to a client who used to come to the ham breakfasts before the altitude got to him. We've been putting this off, and putting this off, and finally I promised the guy the paintings would be shipped by the New Year. As of the time I left for the store, I had cut all but four side pieces and had started to asesmble the one crate that I'd created all the parts for.
What made the job even more difficult was having the client supply his own crates, which were in no way up to the job of transporting a painting halfway across the country (they were too small and would've required a lot of work to enclose the sides, which were effectively open). The difficulty involved wasting a bunch of time to see if somehow the old crates could be incorporated into the new ones, which could only really occur if one was willing to have basically no clearance around the painting.
The phone rings fairly regularly during the last hour of the day. Could someone explain to me the workings of a mind that calls with a question and then turns out to be completely unprepared for the answer? This guy called a little while ago and asked if we have a fax service. I said yes. He then rephrased the question by asking whether we had a fax number someone could call to send him a fax care of our store. I said yes. He then fumbled and mumbled for a while, eventually telling me he was looking for a pen with which to write down the number.
The only logical explanation I can come up with is that he fully expected me to answer "no" to his original query, but this kind of behavior (or a variation, as in the case this morning where a woman called, opened the conversation with "What's the phone number of the main post office?" and interrupting my recitation of that number to give her time to get a pencil) occurs too often for incorrect expectation to be the answer.
Natalie leaves tomorrow and must be on the road by about 10:00 am or so, else the pucker factor starts to increase. I assume Galina will be driving Natalie back to Albuquerque, and that I will be in charge of crates and other weirdness.
I am looking forward to dinner.
Cheers...