duties

I want to just relax. But there are things to do and places to go.

We move the furniture back where it belongs. I wash, I dry, I put away, I pick up. My Riedel glasses, especially the large Bordeaux ones, are beautiful and great to drink from. They are also sturdier than they appear but they require a certain amount of concentration to wash and dry. I break a cheap champagne glass but nothing good. [Yes, I'd like Riedel champagnes but I don't have any. Gift idea, readers.]

We've arranged a brunch for our parents and a couple of friends. My dad is around after he gets out of church and he went to early church. We all get there...FFP going to pick up his parents. We meet our friends. We eat. I have salad and some shrimp and scallops and vegies with cheese and a cinnamon roll. Others have pork and eggs benedict, other desserts, bacon, fruit, etc.

We go home. I do some more washing and drying and picking up. Then we have to go get FFP's parents and take them to the funeral home where Forrest's cousin's services will be. There is a huge crowd in the viewing room. We bail out and go to the lobby. A lot of the crowd spills out there and into a kitchen lounge. Then his parents are ready to go and we take them home.

Whew. Time for a workout. We go to the club together. For a change. The bikes I want to use are occupied. One by an obese guy who isn't exercising but is, instead, sprawling across the bike, listening to headphones and reading the newspaper, placing parts of the paper on another bike (which is only accidentally one I don't want to use). He is with a pudgy 'too much too soon' son with English-schoolboy cheeks who is rolling around the desserted aerobic room with one of those big exercise balls, not exactly exercising either. I know this because they later leave together. It must be the time of weirdos because some other guy, ordinary enough, is using the weight machines for upper body that have a foot pedal to get in position but keeping his feet on the pedals. I see him do it on two. He looks pleased at all the weight he can 'handle.' Duh.

I row to nowhere (a great machine but you can't read on it) while chubbykins (yeah, he's fatter than I am) reads his papers. He finally leaves, leaving the papers on the next bike and the earphones on the one I want to use. I toss the phones on the unused bike. Well, really!

I finish my aerobic work. I have done a couple of free weights for the arms. FFP is ready to go. I'm weary. So we go home.