This afternoon I did manage to get to K-mart, but it was a disappointment. I hoped to get a couple more lightweight shirts for the warm season, at least, but they had nothing. Instead I used my bonus points to buy kitchen and cleaning gear for the apartment. I have a wet-dry mop, a non-feather duster, and a stainless steel mixing bowl with matching measuring devices, large and small, and a French whip. I looked for a traditional egg beater, but they have none. As rarely as I mix things I don't need an electric mixer, and have no room to store one anyway. But what the hell became of hand-powered egg beaters?
I also stopped at Trader Joe's for milk and beer, and to look for rye bread. No rye bread. I couldn't find any at Safeway the other day either. I hope I can get out tomorrow to look at Raley's. If they don't have any I have no idea where to go. Maybe everybody is sold out because of all the leftover corned beef everyone will be making sandwiches with. That's what I want it for. If I can't find any maybe I'll get a package of onion rolls. All I know is I can't make a corned beef sandwich on ordinary bread.
There as something else I intended to do tonight, but I can't remember what it is. I blame the un-taken nap. Also the unseasonable warmth, which might also be responsible for the desire to nap. My brain is as sluggish as, well, a slug. I suppose I'll remember whatever it is tomorrow, then berate myself for forgetting it tonight. I think I would feel better if I could go out onto my back porch and listen to the frogs. But I have no back porch anymore, and there still are no frogs to hear around here. Maybe I'll settle for going into the tiny backyard and listening to the helicopters flying over, and the trains passing on the other side of town. It won't be the same, though.
W. S. Merwin died earlier this week, so you can guess what I'm posting for tonight's
After the Dragonflies
by W. S. Merwin
Dragonflies were as common as sunlight
hovering in their own days
backward forward and sideways
as though they were memory
now there are grown-ups hurrying
who never saw one
and do not know what they
are not seeing
the veins in a dragonfly’s wings
were made of light
the veins in the leaves knew them
and the flowing rivers
the dragonflies came out of the color of water
knowing their own way
when we appeared in their eyes
we were strangers
they took their light with them when they went
there will be no one to remember us