death among the tomatoes

Yes, I am watching The Godfather. I hadn't seen it in its entirety for a long time, and like the second film/prequel, it's a superbly told tale. 

I had a pleasant text surprise a few days ago from Darren*. I don't know what brought it on, as he said nothing about any future trips to my neck of the woods, but it doesn't matter to me. I confess I sort of stalked him on Facebook a few weeks ago and it looked as if he'd gained a bit more weight, but it didn't bother me, even though the facelift surgery has killed my appetite. I've lost about 15 pounds since leaving the hospital.

The facelift continues to heal, although I was warned that the neck would take a few weeks to settle down and it's taking its time. The numbness is receding and the smallish scar under my chin is fading, but there's still a bit of lumpiness here and there.  But when I'm looking at my image in a grocery store video monitor, I'm thrilled to not be looking at a tired and drooping face any more. So it was all worth it.

Otherwise, things are on hold. I had planned to help drive a van full of cats to a large Seattle shelter, but the departure keeps getting pushed back a day or two. And I may very well stay here in Texas until next spring. Ideally I would like a 100% cat-free house so Ian* can sell the place if he likes. Now that he's taken another job in New York, I really can't see him ever returning.

Woops, there goes Connie's husband, right after Michael Corleone assures her that he's not going to have him killed.

Every time I watch a scene with Al Pacino, I remember when he opened his taxi door on me some decades ago in London. He was appearing in a play called American Buffalo. He was even shorter in person; he barely came up to my chest even though I was wearing fairly low heels. 

* See The Usual Suspects.