Why is it that I, a very happily married woman, spend so much of my life waiting for Guys of some sort? Just doesn't seem right, does it?

But I digress. I expect I'll be doing that a lot for a while. Anyhoo, the guys in question are the Wood Guys, and hopefully they will be bringing me half a ton of economical, renewable resource type fuel, and we will no longer be feeling like we live in a crisper drawer. Poor Calliope has been porking it up in an effort to keep warm. Her little white paws are like ice cubes, and I'd force her to wear those silly looking little bootie things if I thought for even one minute that she would put up with them. Feline dignity is far more important than frostbitten tootsies, you know. In any case, I hope that she'll be losing a bit of body fat. She's been looking rather round, and it's just not healthy.

Then again, neither is catching pneumonia, or whatever it is that cats get.

Up early early this morning. Elvis has resumed his early morning schedule, as he's finished the part of the project that requires working with The Guys Who Start Really Late. This is good, because now he'll be getting home before seven, or at least eight. We can spend time together, eat together, that sort of thing. It's not so good, on the other hand when I find myself waiting for the kettle to boil at 6 am, staring out the window at. . . .

Christmas lights. Not that I think some poor underpaid guy who works for the city should be getting out of bed at 4am to douse the lights, but still. It's a bit surreal, is all I'm saying. On the other hand, they're nice lights. The avenida we live on is lined with tall trees, which is one of the reasons I went for this place. The lights are a warm yellowish color, do not blink on and off or anything like that, and look like icicles, which is as close as Lisbon is ever going to get to those, more's the pity. (I like winter. So sue me.)

The other reason, aside from it's a nice apartment, is the name. For some, obscure reason, I get a sort of vague thrill out of living in an Edifice. My apologies, digressing again.

The lights, however, are nice in the evening. They've decorated all of Portugal, it seems. The Portuguese really seem to get in to Christmas. It all started on the first of November, the trees and lights and other decorations going up. By the 15th, Santa was safely ensconced at the small mall near where I live. I have no idea of when he hit the vast malls; possibly October, for all I know. By mid-month, our Porteiro was putting up the tree for our building, too. It's nice. Not too overdone, except for the music. It's tinkly and plays constantly. "You, my friend, are going to be driven up the wall by that crap," I thought when he first plugged it in. Then, of course, I discovered his secret: he unplugs the damn thing whenever he's actually manning the door. Meanwhile, the rest of us (OK, Elvis and me), are slowly being driven insane by the short walk betwixt the elevator and our means of escape from the outside.

Whoo hoo! Wood Guy just called, and I managed to give him directions and generally converse with him in Portuguese! Which is reassuring, as I am missing my lessons right now waiting on this bozo. Not only that, I've actually done my homework. In advance.

Better go down and make sure he finds me, and my garage. I'm not having half a ton of wood in the apartment, with all the attendant insects and whatnot.

So, it's evening now. Got my wood. Half a ton is-- well, it's a heck of a lot of wood, but somehow not quite as much as I thought.

Gotta go meet Elvis down at the Pub.