Taylors is closed, and the nice lady on the phone explained to me that Porto was a pretty Catholic town, so they decided it wasn't worth it to stay open. She would be surprised, she said, if any of the Port Houses were open, but gave me the number of the Insititute so I could call and find out without having to run up my phone bill calling each and every one.

I don't think I thanked her as nicely as I should have. I was still in shock over the implication that Catholics wouldn't find port wine a worthwhile occupation- Nay, would even find it offensive- whatever the day of the year. I'm Catholic, and in my experience, if there is one thing the majority of Catholics are not averse to it's drinking. Oh, yes, we frown on public drunkenness, maybe even private drunkenness, drunk driving, stuff like that. And not all Catholics drink, either, but I've never heard of one that thinks that nobody should. Look at the wedding at Cana. Look at the Mass. I have a Baptist friend who told me that they use grape juice in place of wine at Communion services. The rationale seems to be that alcohol is sinful, and Jesus would have used grape juice if there had been any available. Why He didn't just use water, if that was the case, is a question to be skillfully sidestepped.

But I digress.

Pooka Boy said he would be busily calling wineries this afternoon. A lot of them have overnight accommodation and restaurants and so forth, so we thought that might be a nice idea for one of the nights. He should be calling me later to tell me how he got on.

I went to the gym this morning. Skipping a week and a half was not a good idea, as it turns out. Actually, I hadn't realized it had been that long, until I started thinking about it. Oops.

I had planned on going to yoga tonight as well, but I think I'll need to give that one a miss. Elvis returned home early a little while ago. He has an earache and feels cranky and a bit sorry for himself, so I'd better stay and watch after him. He had a hot bath and just climbed into bed with his book. I think a good night's sleep will do wonders-- at any rate, I hope it will.

Maybe I'll pull out my mat and do some yoga later on. It's a good idea if Elvis will be safely in bed and not free to wander around muttering about voodoo exercise.

Calliope just came in, yowling urgently about something or other. She looks quite distressed, in fact. Now, if she were Lassie, she'd be telling me that little Timmy had fallen down the well, or been abducted by pedophiles or possibly aliens.

However, since this is Calliope we're talking about, she's probably just hungry despite the full kitty buffet in the kitchen. I just fed her not to long ago, and I doubt she's eaten it all. The truth is, that cat has no short term memory whatsoever, and unless she's in front of her bowl with her head down, that bowl is empty as far as she's concerned. That, of course, leads to the spectacle of one or the other of us hoisting an increasingly heavy feline to her bowl, plopping her down, and saying "Look. Food." Complete with helpful hand gestures. At which point Calliope goes "Oooh, food!" and digs right in. Sometimes she even makes little grunting noises.