Good fun yesterday at Smithville Inn during lunch with Peggy, Hazel, and Betty. Didn't get home until 5:30 and had to quickly start Pat's dinner before I went out for a mystery theatre script meeting at Mary Ellen's. It takes at least 45 minutes to get there--she lives in Barneget Light--a real drag, but the evening was fun. I left at 9:00, so after popcorn and wine, didn't get to bed until 11:00, an ungodly hour for me.

Still layin' low, but pretty okay. Bought two pairs of white slacks, but will take both back; I didn't want to take the time to try them on and neither are what I want. The heck with it--I'll wear what I have.
Ran into Betty H. at the supermarket. She lost her husband last year and told me another neighbor I know slightly just did, also.
Meeting Betty, Hazel, and former schoolmate, Peggy, today for lunch. I also said I'd go to the mystery theatre meeting tonight; hope Frank goes, too. I had e-mailed him to the effect I'll help backstage with the "Hedda Gabler" (maybe that should be in italics--can't remember) production and that meeting is tomorrow night.
Wider: The subject of some of my loudest yammerings is television and here's just a hint of good old Ralph's opinion:
"Television today—over the air and cable—with the usual exceptions, could empty the dictionary of disparaging adjectives. Some times slots—such as daily afternoon talk-entertainment shows—are so bad, so sadomasochistic and exploitive, that they escape the media critics. Why would Tom Shales—the insightful Washington Post critic who writes like a dream—want to apply his talented eye to shows that invoke the Latin phrase “res ipsa louitur”: the thing speaks for itself?"
But he has so much more that's pertinent in the full essay on that topic at at http://nader.org/.

Not a good day yesterday. Problems ranged from a malfunction in the garage door to Pat running out of "N" insulin. Luckily, I spoke to darling daughter, Ellen, and she suggested it could be bought over the counter. I didn't think so, but found it can be. Get this: Walgreens's gave me of price of FIFTY-ONE DOLLARS for the tiny vial (holds about a half teaspoon) and I got it at Wal-Mart for twenty three.
Pat was able to tell me what to do about the garage door and the other problems--oh, yes, there were others--more or less resolved themselves. I'm coming up out of my slump now and feeling better.

Got all my gear washed, dried, and put away (I'm compulsive) and pulled together a summer meal after tidying up the house. Betty and Jim arrived shortly before 6:00, when we sat down for dinner.
Hey, it wasn't half bad, if I say it myself. I asked Jim to pick a wine from our diminishing "cellar" (a six-bottle rack in the dining room) and he and I enjoyed a few glasses through the evening. After a pleasant, convivial visit and a stop-over from Susan and Walter, the sibs left and I cleared the kitchen and settled down with my Taylor Country Red.
The phone rang about 8:30 and I heard a voice I haven't heard since I graduated from eighth grade at St. James Grammar School in 1896. It was Elva G., now B., responding to my message of the other day. We talked for 20 minutes or so and discovered we had been living and/or working about 15 miles apart for many years. That was when I was in Ewing and she already had the art gallery in Lamberville. Great fun talking with her.

I'm back from a wonderful, wonderful respite outing, thanks to darling A. and twin sister, Betty. We saw lots of old friends--Mary, Connie, Muckie, Hazel, Dottie, and George--yes, even those we knew as FIRST GRADERS. Ate plenty of fatty, sugary, bad for you, utterly divine food, went out to breakfast, lunch, and dinner, walked on the boardwalk, sat on the porch, and talked, talked, talked--so good. I drank my share of wine and beer, but with the effect only of enhancing my sense of warm, convivial enjoyment. I got there about 4:30 on Thursday, and returned home today at 10:00. We didn't turn the television or radio on even once, and Betty doesn't have a computer there, so aside from cell phones, we were free of our electronic bondage.
Okay, back to reality, but that's okay. I'm rejuvenated, re-charged, and reinvigorated. Am having for dinner tonight the same sis and my brother, Jim, who will come up from Virginia to stay overnight at Betty's. A.'s friends, who raise chickens (!) gave her a dozen fresh eggs and I have them at the boil; will devil them, then add to the ham, baked beans, salad, and whatever else I have around. I was wondering on the way home what I could whip up for dessert and--lo!--A. had made two blueberry cobblers, leaving one for us!
I must remember: I am so lucky to have been born into a big family in a small town. Life is good.

Didn't do a whole heck of a lot yesterday, aside from the usual. Went to the library and got a new book on Ted Kennedy (why? I dunno.) and impulsively picked up Swimsuit by Thomas Patterson. Aside from official government releases, I seldom read fiction, but I can see why he's so popular. He grabs you immediately with a gory, sexy situation and makes the protagonist a suave, brilliantly intelligent, handsome, master of disguises--you'd practically consider it a privilege to be offed by him. Anyway, it's light summer reading, I guess.
Will leave today for Betty's, so won't be posting for a few days. Must pack, do wash, and prepare for my respite weekend.
Wider: At "Common Dreams," there's an eye-opening piece by Derrick Jensen called "Forget Shorter Showers: Why Personal Change Does Not Equal Political Change." Here's a bit:
"Part of the problem is that we’ve been victims of a campaign of systematic misdirection. Consumer culture and the capitalist mindset have taught us to substitute acts of personal consumption (or enlightenment) for organized political resistance...All of the solutions presented (have) to do with personal consumption—changing light bulbs, inflating tires, driving half as much—and have nothing to do with shifting power away from corporations, or stopping the growth economy that is destroying the planet..."
But read it all, and don't bother walking to work:
http://www.commondreams.org/view/2009/07/08

Buzzed around being busy. Went to The Home Depot and got bug spray (for me, not the house) and the Miracle-Gro you attach to the hose. Dropped some things off at the thrift store. Made a loaf of banana bread. Washed several loads of clothes. Stripped and re-made our bed. Mopped the master bath and washed and replaced the rugs. Vacuumed the living room and our bedroom. Washed Pat's hair and gave him a sponge bath. After dinner, I attached the hose thing and watered my poor little yellow flowers on the side. Of course, all this was aside from my everyday caregiver chores, but it gave me a sense of accomplishment--I ain't just spinning my wheels here, folks.
Talked to Betty to try and arrange a meet-up with old friends from elementary school. Talked to A., who will give me another "respite weekend" shortly.
Wider: My rant for the day: I wouldn't dream of watching the "memorials" to Michael Jackson, but saw on my home page a video of his 11-year-old daughter saying he was "the best father in the world." I'm not suggesting he wasn't a good father--who the hell knows?--but the stomach-turning idea of coaching a child to "pay tribute" for an audience, then break down in tears, can be described as nothing but "unseemly." She was surrounded by her aunts and uncles, all of them decked out in the most somber of black clothes, looking remarkably like African-American Mafia. She was encouraged (oh, of course, she was encouraged) to cry, then turn to Auntie Janet (I guess it was) to be photogenically embraced while the others assumed the doleful, zombie-like expressions the artistic director must have thought appropriate.
Boy, it makes you wonder--yet again--where we're headed and raises lots of questions: Is there no honest emotion left that's experienced behind closed doors and that doesn't rely for its authenticity on hordes of witnesses? Is there such a thing as GOOD TASTE, anymore? Is there any rock-bottom low that television won't explore? How many people actually watched that garbage? How many children took concious or unconcious notes on "how to act when your daddy dies?"
Okay, I'll stop. I'll go out and get the newspaper, which will cover the whole charade at length, I'm sure, and will surely list some of the most prominent celebs at the "memorial." Just one more question:
How much did the ever-so-bereaved family realize from the television rights? A bundle, huh?