Once more – upward

I was back in the attic yesterday for three hours.  Up there I am out of sight, probably thankfully so to some people. BUT, now I am at stage 2, which deals with putting different hoarded stuff up in designated areas. NOW is the time of the dictator. That would be me; that would be me with Great-great Aunt Sara’s carved walking stick.

This post is inaccurately titled; I was thinking of my getting back on those pull-down stairs, determined look on my face when I wrote the title. Maybe I thought I was going to write about getting back on the horse that threw you.  I was wrong in that assumption. Obviously, the attitude busting out right through my typing fingers is: Okay, you sherpas, get moving. I might have been too rash in my choice of the walking stick; perhaps an Indiana Jones whip would be more effective.

Gee, could it be I am in a bad mood today?? Did I get some bad peanut butter? I hope I don’t see myself in the headlines – with words like rampage and Nazi-like.

I guess a call to Rose is in order.

UPDATE: Rose’s appointment book is all filled up, so I guess I will be seeing Sophie. (This Sophie)