With the other half of the household home from work, we tackled a few outdoor chores: cleaning out gutters, cutting the emerging bamboo sprouts (rain = bamboo), and pulling up this year's enormous crop of sticker-burr vines. They're everywhere!
A trip to the grocery was, well, trippy.
A strangely enthusiastic worker wiped down the handle of my grocery cart for me, presenting it with a flourish. Shelves were patchy - some just as full as ever, some empty with a sign limiting quantities per purchaser limply fluttering.
And these purchasers were of two kinds: either nervous looking buyers wearing masks or, like me, who were maskless but tried to maintain the required six feet of distance from other people... or the totally oblivious people who, having run out of peanut butter in the hermit cave without news that they inhabit, wandered around the store with their kids and aisle-blocking carts and seemed to deliberately breath in the nervous buyers' directions.
I used to kinda enjoy grocery store trips.
No theater related work today, but on the reading front, I found that an old - like from the '40s writer I like is now easy to find and cheap in ebook form. D.E. Stevenson wrote very gentle, very English vaguely romantic novels full of well observed characters. Almost nothing happens. Except teatime. I think this particular novel is up to its fourth tea party so far... Very soothing indeed. I'm reading a novel of hers that's new to me, Spring Magic (drippy title I know, bear with me). A pleasant respite. Maybe I'll go on a P. G. Wodehouse binge after this?
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After thought: that comment about tea time reminds me of one of my all time favorite titles, by Douglas Adams: The Long Dark Tea Time of the Soul. Isn't that great?