Somehow, Fio got erased for yesterday and lost not only her mental meanderings, but an entry about Husband's death, which was two-years ago on January 2.
Why was Fiorella asked what she wanted in a new house when it seems like none of her few requests--an outside door, two rooms, a soaker tub and bathroom, a nice yard--are available?
Wonder of wonders--your girl accidentally stepped on her only remaining pair of distance glasses and....hold your breath....shoved one of the lenses back into place again! The other lens is still a little whopper-jawed, of course, and both of them are secured with Scotch tape, but it's a start.
Remind Fio tomorrow morning that it's better to drink her hot chocolate (NesQuick) in the morning, when she needs warming up, and to leave the frozen chocolate bars, broken into milk for the evening, when she pretends it's a cocktail.
Realtor Mallary, an angel of patience, will be stopping over this afternoon to go through all the papers that Fiorella has dug out of the old-fashioned overloaded desk that has guarded the living-room entryway for, lo, these sixteen years (plus a hundred or so before that.)
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