Thursday Afternoon

Quarter of three. I walked to Bi Mart and picked up my medication and a pouch of marrow bone treats for Aesop. The weather is gorgeous and invincible. On my way, I thought languidly about the point in school where I began to lose touch with my nephews. It was in junior high school, most obviously in ninth grade. So I can blame the education system for the huge rift between me and my family. Perhaps life could have remained simple, but what’s done is done and can’t be reversed. I guess I can stop accusing myself for being intelligent and having a larger vocabulary than my sister’s family. For them, life still is simple. For me, my intellect needed a place to go. Life provided a way for that to happen… When I arrived at the parking lot for Grocery Outlet and Bi Mart, I saw quite a few cars and some people walking around. About half of them wore a mask. The entry door to Bi Mart was standing open. The greeter welcomed me and told me the carts and baskets were sanitized for us. I ran into Carol from church and exchanged a few words. Everyone says how bored and tired they are of the lockdown. The checkout counters were all preceded by red tape on the floor to keep people six feet apart from each other. The pharmacy counter was protected by sheets of glass between clerks and customers. I found the dog treats without trouble. They were still priced reasonably low. I couldn’t think of anything I wanted for me, but I knew Aesop would enjoy the marrow bones. Shawn behind the counter said hi and asked me how I was. I just said life was pretty dull. She told me she was tired of wearing a mask… Walking back home, I passed the animal rights activist’s house. The usual signs were placed in his yard, but the one I didn’t understand said, “Epstein didn’t kill himself.” Who the heck is Epstein, unless he means Brian, the manager for The Beatles? It didn’t take me long to get home. I attribute the ease of the return trip to having seen Shawn. She’s always been especially kind to me. I noticed that Diana is having car trouble, but it appears that she got someone to help her. Before I ever left the house, I rescued my copy of Byron’s Don Juan from a box of books. I had made good progress in it prior to my mother’s death. I may start reading from Canto X and just finish the book. If I don’t, it’s because Byron was quite an alcoholic and given over to lusts that he never overcame. He died at 36 years, fighting for Greek independence.

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