There is more stuff from Grocery Outlet, including some cornmeal with which I might make something, now that oven season is here again. Or I might just repeatedly despair of my limited cooking skillz and let it sit on the shelf indefinitely. There is also more soup in waxy boxes, and some exotic salsa from New Mexico, which I might turn out to like or not like, so I should try it soon, so if I like it I can get more before it vanishes from the shelves of the sore forever.
I mailed the rent check when I went out, though it added a bit of hassle to the trip. When I got to the mailbox I discovered that I'd forgotten to put a stamp on the envelope. That means I had to stop at CVS and pick up a book of stamps, even though I bought a book last week. I now have loads of stamps, and will probably die before I use them up. I should probably have a will drawn up so my heirs won't fight over them. They are forever stamps, after all.
Since I dawdled before going out, there was no time to stop at the Goodwill store, so I was spared the temptation to buy another book. I might not go there tomorrow either, since the next day is Tuesday and thus senior discount day, so I could save 10% by waiting. However, I will worry that a book I really want will appear on the shelf and get sold on the day I don't go, and then I will never know how close I came to getting it. This is a thought that often makes me sad, considering how foolish I am about owning copies of books I will probably never get a chance to read in my remaining hours. With luck, that fatal disease that's making me sleep in the evenings will kill me before I can miss any more of those books, and the torment will be over. Too bad I'll be dead and won't care anymore.
Damn, I'm cheerfully morose tonight. I think it must be because Monday is Armistice Day, and they don't call it that anymore. Does anyone even care anymore that that war stopped but wasn't really over? A few of the people who were alive then are probably still around. There were a whole bunch of them around when I was a kid, and now there aren't. Soon there will be none. I'll post something to forget to remember them by.
by Siegfried Sassoon
Voices moving about in the quiet house:
Thud of feet and a muffled shutting of doors:
Everyone yawning. Only the clocks are alert.
Out in the night there’s autumn-smelling gloom
Crowded with whispering trees; across the park
A hollow cry of hounds like lonely bells:
And I know that the clouds are moving across the moon;
The low, red, rising moon. Now herons call
And wrangle by their pool; and hooting owls
Sail from the wood above pale stooks of oats.
Waiting for sleep, I drift from thoughts like these;
And where to-day was dream-like, build my dreams.
Music ... there was a bright white room below,
And someone singing a song about a soldier,
One hour, two hours ago: and soon the song
Will be ‘last night’: but now the beauty swings
Across my brain, ghost of remembered chords
Which still can make such radiance in my dream
That I can watch the marching of my soldiers,
And count their faces; faces; sunlit faces.
Falling asleep ... the herons, and the hounds....
September in the darkness; and the world
I’ve known; all fading past me into peace.