Or maybe just geekiness.
Today I spent the day building a couple of nightstands for a friend. Fussy finish work that is usually not my style, but it was an excuse to use my new Hitachi finish nailer, and any time I get to use something by Hitachi - and get paid for it - I'm a happy girl.
So I sputtered and puttered in the yard, compressor (also Hitachi) doing the compressing, nailer doing the nails, squares and clamps doing their things, and the sun is shining. It was a grand morning. After lunch I moseyed on over to the post office to pick up a package waiting there for me. I checked the mail yesterday and got a slip that said I had a package too big to fit into my wee little PO box, but the window where the people give you your mail was not open yet and I had things to do, so I had to get back to it today. I spent the whole day wondering what treasures might await me that could not fit into my PO box. I knew I had something coming, but no clue what it might be.
See, last week I helped a blog buddy, one Leo McCool over at butch girlcat through her very first home-done automotive oil change. It was an interesting thing to try to do over the phone. I tend to be a very visual, show-with-my-hands kind of gal, so I had to think really hard about which words I needed and how to arrange them to get across what we were doing. But it all worked out, Leo was as happy as a dyke covered in motor oil could be (which is quite happy, for the record), and life went on. A couple days later I got a note advising me that a gratuity of some sort was headed my way and I should expect it to arrive either Wednesday or Thursday and to check my mailbox. Well, so I did, and you heard the part about the slip saying come back to get your package when the window is open. Got it? Good. We're all up to speed now.
Well, I headed over there today. It was such a gorgeous day, I took Quinn the wonderpooch with me for the ride and she was most pleased to participate in the adventure. Only, when we got to the village Post Office, there was a sign on the door advising that only service animals were allowed inside. Well, phoo. As excited as Quinn was, there was going to be no convincing anyone that she was therapeutic in any kind of way. So I stood outside trying to figure out how to attach her leach to something sturdy when a white-haired gentleman came out of the lobby and asked if I'd like him to hold her leash while I went in for my mail.
I know this guy. He used to be my next door neighbor when we lived in that village, and I've seen him around at the library, town meeting, and at the Democratic caucus last year. Neat guy. "You don't mind?" I asked. Not at all, he assured me. I handed him her leash and dashed inside.
The lady handed over my prize and I went back outside to reclaim my pooch, who was busy being entertaining and adorable on the sidewalk out front. It's what she does. Thanks so much, I told him, and headed off down the sidewalk, box tucked under my arm and grinning like a maniac and stifling the giggles as I composed this in my head.
The guy who just watched my dog? That neat white-haired guy with the flowing beard and kind eyes? His name is Mr. Hansen. He was once a movie star. Of sorts. Now he writes and travels back and forth to Iceland (I think) writing and lecturing and whatnot.
I got home and opened the box and found a batch of home made chocolate chip cookies. They are (rapidly becoming were) delicious. I make cookies, as some of you know, but chocolate chip and I have issues. They're always too something - too dry, too hard, too flat, too gooey, too something not quite right. These were (are) perfect. If supper does not appeal, these may well be supper.
What?! They're a real meal. There's flour and eggs and butter - that's carbs and protein and dairy - what more do you need, really. We eat too much meat anyway. This will work.
Oh, and the movie star-cum-writer and dog-watcher? Guy's name is Gunnar Hansen. He was in a cheesy horror flick back in the day when cheesy horror flicks were new and scary. He never spoke a line (that I remember) an nobody ever saw his face. Not really. He carried a chainsaw and wore a mask made of human flesh. His character's name was Bubba Sawyer, but moviegoers for 34 years have called him something very different.
Yes, leatherface watched my dog this afternoon. Yes, that leatherface. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre Leatherface. Heh.
How cool is that?!