Two Drives and a Disability

Sondra sent me her other play, How A Neurotic Survived Cancer, which is, as all hers are, autobiographical.  She just intends to change the male role (her former live-in gentleman friend) to female because the guy she wanted to play it isn't available.
Ho-kay... (Picture me raising an eyebrow whilst drawling that out.)
Went to print it out and discovered I was out of black ink. Jumped in the car and went to Staples to get some.  While in the big city, I also picked up four wine glasses with "Laurita" on them. I like the Laurita Winery a lot and yes, even though I'm anxious to move, I wanted to get these.
Took a long drive, almost to Hammonton, while listening to Newtown, An American Tragedy. This is by Matthew Somebody, and it's thorough, but I don't like the narrator's overly-dramatic reading, which he renders with a kind of breathless haminess. Nevertheless, it's enthralling in a horrifying way, like watching a rabbit being swallowed by a snake.
Simultaneously, I'm reading on the Kindle, Miracle Boy Grows Up: How the Disability Rights Revolution Saved My Sanity, by Ben Mattlin. This guy was born with a muscle-wasting disease and is virtually helpless.  He has never been able to perform any physical task whatever, from blowing his nose to taking care of himself in the bathroom.  But the book isn't directly about triumphing over adversity or "I'm depressed and you would be, too, if you couldn't even press the remote" type of thing.  He's got a terrific writing style and is clearly no dunce (he's a financial adviser and writer), is married and has two children.  How he managed that, I can't even guess. Anyway, I befriended him on Facebook and he wrote me a gracious little note. I'll mention the book on my FB page.
Still restless, I took another drive late in the day and followed a rather remote road to a watery area not far from the Parkway.  It dead ended at swampy land, a wide canal, and just one large building with "No Trespassing" signs here and there. I was about to drive away when an elderly man came from behind a fence.  I waited so I could tell him I was just exploring and we fell into conversation.  His name is Steve Potter, he's 86, lives in New Gretna, and his grandfather had owned the land. Now he keeps an eye on the place for the out-of-town owners, who have their boats there. Interestingly, he used to work at the Ventnor Boatworks.