I am at a loss for coherent stories for tonight. I'm just listening to mellow music, waiting for it to be bedtime. I have to show up for the jury duty summons in the morning, and the odd mixture of dread and schadenfreude-laced curiosity is blotting out all my creativity. I don't want to get wrapped up in something that could take days, but I also am afraid of speaking up about my obligations later this week, and missing out on eavesdropping on someone else's great life struggle. Do I want to know what happens in other people's darkest hours? I really don't know. I don't like watching movies when something horrible happens to advance the plot (or twist it). But for all of my life, I have been a student of human nature. I'm not sure I could look away if my life depended on it.
I have a few random photos from the last two or three days to share tonight, some of the minor crimes that have happened around here. Friday, I dumped out several of the spent container pots, pouring the used potting soil into the largest hole in the back yard. I had it to within about three inches of the top, lightly tamped down. By the end of the day, when I went out on my last pass, a horrid little red headed dog had fluffed the packed soil back up for me. When I asked who had done it, he hung his head and walked inside the house. He knew I didn't appreciate his help.
I don't always use my dishwasher, since it's just me living here. I usually do the dishes in the sink. But in my misery I let a few things pile up, and I ran a load of dishes through the washer last night. This morning I opened the dishwasher to get my favorite giant coffee cup, and before I had the top rack out the width of my palm, I heard a crack and a tinkle. That giant serving of wine from my birthday was in a souvenir glass from the days when we used to go to the wineries in the central California coast, and the glass was very thin and fragile. I can't even tell what it caught on as I pulled out the rack. I can't stand not having matched pairs of wine glasses. I guess now I have to go back down Foxen Canyon Road, and revisit my favorites. Oddly, just before I told my mother we should return, she was thinking she would ask me when we were going back. I don't know whether this is a 2015 goal, or one for 2016. Whenever it is, our honorary family out there, the ones who know we would have chosen them for sisters and aunties if we had been given the chance, will be encouraged to join us. We promise to plan around their schedules and everything. But I doubt we will promise to behave.
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