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The Musical Fruit [Oct. 30th, 2018|09:38 pm]
My mind isn't exactly blank. It's just muddled. But muddled has the same effect as blankness. I can't think of a thing to say. The days are supposed to get balmy again for a while. Maybe I'll think of something then. It was dry and windy today, and perhaps the wind just blew my thoughts away, or the dryness desiccated them. I really can't remember much of what happened, except that I lost track of my cooking and let a pot of beans boil down. I don't know yet how they'll taste, but they do smell a bit burned.

It is said that ninety or so years ago the jail in Ventura, which bills itself "the poinsettia city" served prisoners burned beans so often that they came to be known as the beans with the poinsettia flavor. My mom, whose uncle was on the Ventura police force, told me that. Maybe eating burned beans will make me nostalgic for Ventura in the 1920s, a place I never knew but by stories. Stories other than mine seem more interesting tonight anyway. My story tonight is that my mind is muddled and I'm eating burned beans for dinner.

Good thing I've got beer to wash them down with. That means there is at least a happy ending.

[User Picture]From: gracegiver
2018-10-31 05:01 am (UTC)
The more you eat, the more you toot. Good thing you live alone, eh?
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[User Picture]From: flying_blind
2018-10-31 05:12 am (UTC)
I live alone aside from the cats, but then I've never heard complaints from them. Complaints would be hypocritical of them anyway, given the things they leave in their litter boxes.
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