Changed the bed and did a load of bleach wash. I'll do a color one today to prepare for our mother/daughter mini-vacay tomorrow--yay!
After breakfast, I loaded up my cart with some books and started off for the little lending library in the park. Before I left the complex, I ran into my friend, Patrick, and gave him some plastic bottles.(He takes them to the redemption place, then distributes the money to the homeless.) He thanked me, then asked if I like wine--(ha, is the Pope...?). He then gave me a straw-wrapped bottle of chianti. Wow, I haven't had chianti for years and now I remember it's probably my favorite red; I'm looking forward to sharing it with Jim. There were slim pickin's at the LLL, but I added some hard covers and picked up two paperbacks.
Ellen called to give me the terrible news: She tried to buy Skinny Girl Margaritas at Von's in Ojai and they didn't have any! I said I'd go to the Von's here; did so, and they didn't have any, either! But we must be able to drink Margaritas when we're in the hotel in Pasadena! Oh, dear, goodness gracious, what to do? Finally, I thought of CVS, went there, and yes, they had some and I bought it--whew! Can't wait for our excursion in Pasadena.
Later, I started thinking about my old St. James classmate, Elva Gruhler. For some reason, I'm still having a hard time "processing," as they say, her death. From my blog entry of April 7, 2020:
I thought I'd call my old friend, Elva Gruhler (that was her maiden name), with whom I graduated from St. James an incredible seventy years ago, but the phone was no longer "in service." Looked her up and, damn, Elva died three months ago. I'm not sure why that hit me so hard, but it did. We had a history--Dr, Gruhler and his family lived on Rosborough Avenue, as we did and I went all through grammar school with Elva. They moved away, we lost touch until about ten years ago, when we reconnected. I visited Elva at her Lambertville Gallery of Fine Art, bringing Jeanne Dollard once and Peggy Hartman another time.
I don't know why I feel so bereft; the last time I talked to Elva was shortly after I moved here. She had called just to say hello, not realizing I was in California. I wish I had called her a few months ago. Elva's entire birth family pre-deceased her and her brother and sister were quite young. It's another part of my childhood gone forever and I remember some history with Elva that now, nobody else in the world remembers. It isn't even important or very significant, so why does it still clutter up my mind? That's a rhetorical question--I know why.
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