Progress and regress

Saturday was a fruitful day for my husband, who spent most of it on the tractor furrowing tulip trenches. The plan is to begin planting tulip bulbs one or more evenings this week.

I was not so heroically efficient on Saturday. Am I unique in wishing I could shop for ordinary household goods in a quiet store? Does the rest of the entire population require loud boom-ba music to pervade a prosaic sheet-buying errand—sorry—“experience” at Macy’s? Evidently. The music successfully scrambled my brain. I managed, even after re-checking the package some compulsive number of times, to come home with twin instead of queen-size sheets. My ever-understanding husband took me back to affable, if still-raucous, Macy’s after finishing the tulip trench, and a sympathetic clerk effected the zero-hassle exchange.

My longest-standing if lowest worldview-compatibility friend wrote last week after a long, if not somewhat refreshing, hiatus. Various members of her family, it seems, are actually aging, and this has not entirely escaped her notice. I suppose the commonality of our plight is somewhat bonding. We endure as friends, I think, primarily because of the duration of the bond: one of over 50 years.

Perhaps rain will displace the shower of white gnats circulating outside. On the other hand, the gnats are so quiet. . . .The late-afternoon migraine that bloomed in my head earlier has receded.


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