AJ refused to sleep today and my husband, while taking an unscheduled nap, refused to wake up, so I haven�t had a chance to update today. We�ve been trying to get the house ready for the assorted guests attending AJ�s birthday party tomorrow, a process that has spurred us on in a few stalled out projects. I spent AJ�s brief nap working on framing some prints for our kitchen. The prints, by a French artist named Gerard Puvis are embossed with the foils of wine bottles and are kind of unusual. We�ve been looking forward to hanging them in our kitchen since we bought them months ago, but as usual have failed to follow through on our project in a timely fashion. While working on the largest of the prints, I managed to crack the glass and so when AJ woke up, we drove to Hobby Lobby to get the glass replaced.

When we walked up to the counter in the framing section, I was stunned to find two of the four prints I was framing on the counter. The owners of the prints saw me looking at them and started to tell me about this unusual artist and I told them that I was just framing those very same pictures. Hobby Lobby, being a bastion of the Christian right (at least this particular store is), is not a place where I tend to meet up with kindred spirits, but I had a lovely conversation with the owners of the prints, a retired couple, who were very well-traveled and well-read and who liked to eat at many of the same restaurants we enjoy. While we were talking, AJ spelled every word he could see and read the ones he recognized. He�s rather obsessive about such things these days, which comes in handy during long waits at framing counters.

The man working the framing center was mute. I don�t know that I�ve ever encountered anyone who was simply mute before, although I�ve had several acquaintances who were deaf and didn�t really speak. At first I was thinking that a customer service job was an odd choice for someone who couldn�t speak, but I was clearly wrong. He was charming and funny and an excellent framer. It was like having a conversation with Marcel Marceau. You know, if he framed stuff. Yeah.

There�s something a little uncomfortable about speaking to someone who can�t speak. It�s kind of like the way people tend to whisper when someone else whispers, regardless of whether there�s a need for it. I remember being amazed at how when I had laryngitis several years ago and wasn�t able to manage anything more than a whisper, most people would whisper back. Is it sympathy? Or merely habit, as on so many occasions when someone whispers there is a need to be quiet? In any case, I found myself this afternoon feeling self-conscious about my tendency to talk with my hands.

AJ has materialized at my side, so I must cut this short. Tomorrow is AJ�s party, so I�m not certain whether I�ll be able to update. And tonight? Tonight we mop!

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