It took longer than I thought it would, there being so much to look at at Dollar Tree, and the line at the lone open checkout stand being so long and slow, so on the way home I stopped at Taco Bell and bought another of their high-end burritos. They are a bit over three bucks, which adjusted for inflation would be about 35 cents in mid-1960s money, so I ask myself if I would have paid 35 cents for such a burrito in 1965. I probably would have, though not if a better one had been available at the same price, which indeed was the case in my old neighborhood, but not in many other parts of Los Angeles in those days, nor here in Chico today. So I buy the Taco Bell burrito and don't feel too bad about it. Plenty of time to feel bad about it tomorrow.
When I got home I found a pleasant surprise waiting in my (snail) mailbox. It is a volume of Richard Wilbur's poetry— I believe it was the first collection of his work, containing the first four volumes he published, going back to 1947. I'm pretty sure someone from LJ sent it. Many thanks.
Since dinner was rather early and not too large I'm having a late snack of toast with apple butter and a mug of hot chocolate. I haven't bought apple butter in ages, considering it somewhat of a luxury due to the fact that the stores never have it on sale. Every other variety of Smucker's jams and preserves can be had at a considerable discount fairly often, but never the apple butter. I decided to splurge, since I could use a nostalgic luxury these days. I actually remember the very first time I had apple butter, when I was about seven or eight years old, when I was recovering from a fairly serious illness. It seems quite appropriate to my current situation.
A few more cats, none of whom I recognize, were posted in the rescue photo albums today. I keep thinking I hear meowing now and then, but it must be my imagination, unless the woman in the next apartment has a cat, or her child has a very unusual voice.
Oh, look what time it is. I just can't keep track of it anymore.
