Borrowed the futon from Suzanne in the morning and dug out some sheets for it. Talked to El, who was going for her Brazilian blowout at 3:30 or so, then said she'd come over. Did a wash, then just tidied up a bit. Right after lunch, I took my cart and went to the Hill Street library branch. Took back Shrill, plus the true crime overview book I had gotten out. I stayed for an hour or so reading, then went to look for another Jonathan Kellerman (it's an addiction I can't seem to break) and while I was perusing the stacks, I heard someone say my name. It was Cece, whom I had known in Toastmasters and we greeting each other happily. Shortly, she called over John C., also a Toastmasters person, He gave me a big hug and we three chatted away.
John, unfortunately, has had serious health problems lately. He said he had just relearned how to walk after a major back operation, plus he has anemia and the doctors aren't sure what's causing it. To top it off, he has neuropathy. I'm not sure how old John is--I think in his early eighties--but he looked considerably more frail and elderly than he did the last time I saw him. Anyway, Toastmasters is still Zoom meeting only and that doesn't interest me in the least. We chatted away, then I had to leave, as Ellen was going to call me.
She did, then came over to help me move the large and heavy coffee table, so there would be room for the futon. I got the vacuum out and after both of us had laboriously pushed it around, El degreed that I needed a new one. Yes, I did, and we rushed off to Wal-Mart and picked up a cheapie Dirt Devil for less than fifty bucks.
We then went to Jasmine Thai to find--AAGH!--that they're closed on Wednesday, so we went to another Thai place on Johnson Drive. We had delish pad Thai (El), tropical fried rice (me) and, of course, Thai iced tea and a Sappho beer, respectively.
Home, El put the Dirt Devil together, we each ran it, it's just fine, I say, and I'll use it a lot more than the Hoover dinosaur I had before. El has a four-hundred dollar Dyson and more or less looked down her nose at mine, but geez, she has a whole house, I have exactly two smallish rooms that are carpeted, and I'm okay with it. My darling daughter left about 7:00--how I love being with her--and I'll see her again on Saturday.
I was at this laptop at 8:00, just about to sign off to watch a segment of Florence Foster Jenkins, when I was surprised to get a Messenger video call from my old classmate, Jeanne Dollard Painter. She's been bombarding me lately with texts and pictures to assure me her daughters and granddaughters are beautiful (some really are beautiful) and brilliant (questionable) who ever lived on the face of the earth. Oh, and they all married extremely wealthy men with whom they live in luxury, except for those who are on a par with Bill Gates when it comes to corporate standing--AAGH!
Jeanne has been doing this for years. In a weird way, she reminds me of Sharon from T.O.P.S. They both seem so bereft of meaning in their lives that they have to keep assuring me--and themselves--that they have great meaning in their lives. Jeanne was at Lake George with her 92-year-old lover, who was asleep on the couch. What in the hell could she do all day? She seems to have no interests or hobbies, few friends, and little in-person contact with her children. Well, she was the prettiest girl in the class sixty-seven years ago, so there's that...
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