Varieties

After getting a Facebook tip from cyber-friend David S. about "Terminator" being a good product, I called an exterminator in Tuckerton.  He'll come Monday for an estimate--hope it's less than the other guy's.  It turns out Susan and Walter had this very guy for their termites, and were happy with him.
Actually swept one side of the garage and got rid of a few things.  There's some old wood in there and I don't know what I'd ever use it for, so put it by the curb.  Looks better, but don't get me wrong: It's only the left side I cleaned up a little.  The other side is the one with all the stuff.  Don't want to think about it.
Cooked myself up some sausage, onions, and garlic in oil for lunch and with a salad, it was so good.  I have some left, so may actually have that for dinner.
Looked into excursions and interesting places to go today with Leslie and found little appealing in Ocean County.  I then saw the Somers Point Museum in Atlantic and thought that would be interesting after lunch at the Crab Trap.  Called Les and she was enthusiastic about it, too. 
Impulsively called my old friend, Marge D., to ask if she was up for a visit.  She was, and I went over to chat.  Marge seems sadly depleted; she's very, very thin, and is having a number of physical problems.  She said Fred was in Cape May, visiting his aunt and uncle....  Aunt and Uncle?!  Good grief, Fred's 84; it's incredible he has living relatives of an older generation.  Turns out, though, the uncle is only three years older than Fred and his wife is six or eight years younger than that.
In the evening, I was pleased to get a call from longtime friend, Jeanne P.  We had a nice chat and one of these days, I hope, will be able to "meet in the middle" (between our two homes) for lunch.  She lives in Montvale, NJ.
I came across a program for the "St. James Minstrel Show of 1949" and posted some pages on Facebook.  My brothers, Larry and Frank were in the cast, as was my husband and, oh, there are so many others I knew as a girl.  All but a handful are gone, now.  I guess I was in eighth grade then, and I already had a crush on Pat.   
In Look Homeward, Angel, Thomas Wolfe wrote "O lost/And by the wind grieved/Ghost, come back again."  How we yearn for those we love to "come back again," but they never do. 
The mystery of time passing--and finally ending, I suppose, for the dead--has always fascinated me, as I think it does every thinking person.  It's such a puzzle and such a wound to the heart when people die, yet there's an excitement in it, too: What's around the next corner?