Incredibly, I didn't wake up until 8:15. I thought of skipping T.O.P.S., but decided against it; I did, of course, skip my walk. Was weighed and had gained, as I had known I would, and not an inconsequential amount, either. However, I was there and I think it's better at least to be aware of the damage.
Got home to find an e-mail from Tish, my husband's niece. She was writing, of course, in response to the e-mail I had sent her, telling her about the certified mail snafu. In it, she apologized for not personally notifying me of Regina's death, saying they had only my New Jersey info (and no e-mail; Regina didn't use it).
As I read it, I realized that Tish thought I had bemoaned Regina's indifference to me after Pat died. Not at all--in fact, she and I were in touch reasonably often. I'm not sure where she got that idea.
In any event, I decided that, rather than dash off a careless response, I'd have breakfast first, then reply to her e-mail. As I sat down at the table--by that time, it was after 10:00--there was a knock at my door. Guess who? Yes, the mailman, who handed me the certified letter from Tish that had arrived at the Ventura post office four days before. I opened it and, of course, it was about what she had e-mailed. So I sat down and wrote back. I assured Tish that I had been fond of Regina and that it wasn't her indifference I had noted in the years since Pat died. It occurred to me that I must have recorded Regina's and my encounters (invariably warm and friendly) in my blog, so I went into it and put them in a Word document. This took me an incredibly long time--two hours, in fact--but I was so absorbed by it, I barely noticed.
Anyway, I sent it off, then called Elaine H., whose apartment at Ashwood Gardens I might want. She invited me over and I went. This place is downright palatial compared to mine--and, for that matter, to Ventura Del Sol. It's a one-bedroom, but has a large center hall, a marvelous amount of closets and other storage, huge living room, bedroom, and dining area--. In short, it's a dream that I'd kill to have.
Anyway, she offered me a glass of lemonade and we sat and talked for some time. I suddenly realized it was after 3:30 and the wine and music event at The Townehouse would have started already. Said goodbye and rushed off there. I had called Joe L. to see if he'd be at there, but he said he had to go to "St. Joe's," which I assume if a hospital or rehab, because of a flare-up with his leg problem. However, I saw a few other people I know, had a glass of wine, and enjoyed the music.