Playing Scrabble with Mrs. Ottawacker

Slept quite badly and was awake at 3.58am. Having spent the night in the basement, ostensibly to let Mrs. Ottawacker sleep but also to avoid the snoring, I was interested to find out she had woken up at 3.58am also. Something, then, woke us both up. Probably the furnace kicking in – or maybe we just caught the tail end of a cat squabble.
 
Anyway, I managed to get back to sleep, but had several dreams and woke up sweating at around 8.30.  Got up and started to work – again on the memoirs, but also finalising my tax numbers for the accountant. Every year, I leave this till the last minute; every year, I swear I’ll never do it again. To cheer myself up, I wrote an email to my friend Matt, who is an Eminent Researcher down in Florida. He’s a really interesting guy – a good man, who has many of the same background elements as I; I had to explain why we wouldn’t be coming down for a visit any time soon. Speaking of which, flights from Canada to the USA are 70% emptier than in January. Well done, Canada.
 
The afternoon was spent on the translation. Until, at around 3pm, I wondered what the hell I was doing. Sunday afternoons should be spent in the bosom of one’s family. So, I closed up shop, went downstairs, kicked a ball at Ottawacker Jr. for a while (his height is now making it more difficult (a) to score and (b) for him to find excuses as to why I have scored – see blip); then played Hearts and a game of Scrabble. I lost abysmally at both games. The Scrabble rankled, because Mrs. Ottawacker plays for the board and is perfectly content to see Ottawacker Jr. get triple words with “Z” or “X” or “Q” in them… sitting next to her is the best way of ever winning at Scrabble. So, to let her make up for it, I let her cook dinner.