Anne Mary H., one of my more eccentric neighbors, took Susan and me to breakfast at Dockside, where she goes virtually every morning. The experience was pretty evenly balanced between pleasantly cordial and "get me outa here before I go nuts myself," but that's the usual with Miss H.
However, I was touched when Anne Mary presented me with a gift card to Trader Joe's, which has no store anywhere near here, but does, of course, in California. That was truly thoughtful and may have made up for hearing about her brushes with death (they're constant) for the ninety-fifth time, plus evidence that she's unique in every way--every good and enviable way, that is.
We parted and I ran errands until it was time for my hairdresser appointment. Got color and a trim from Tracie. I'm not crazy about her work, but there was no point in worrying about it, as I won't be going there again. She wrote out my "formula," so I can give it the next hairdresser.
Went home and changed, then to the viewing for Lou G. When he was well--not raddled with dementia, that is--he was a good guy. Maxwell's was packed and I greeted Josephine, the new widow, and chatted with a number of friends, many of whom expressed regret that I'm leaving. As is often true at these gathering, the mood was more celebratory--in a subdued way--than somber, maybe because the attendees are relieved their numbers haven't been called yet.
Stopped at Pat's Automotive to see if he was actually interested buying my car. I overlooked what I paid for it and he asked me to come back with a possible price. Will do.
My friend called. I told her it wasn't necessary for her to come today, but she will tomorrow and, of course, Monday when the movers are here.
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Thursday was a funeral day for us. A 90-year-old man from my church, who finally handed in his lunch pail last Saturday. Didn't seem like such a bad thing; a good guy who'd lived a long time and was in terrible shape the last few years. And it'll be a blessing, I think, to his widow, who's been doing many tons of caregiving, and is physically still pretty well off. She will, I think, be a relatively merry widow.
Jim, I'm charmed by that expression "finally handed in his lunch pail..." Is that an Indiana idiom? I wonder if people under 60 would even understand that workers had lunch pails.
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