The knee and I drove past the opening night of the A2 Summer Fest this evening, but we didn't stop to wander through. We decided we'd come home instead. We were gonna have to park pretty far away, and we'd left our sunglasses at the office anyway.
This week I've also been saying magic words over a kitchen sink clog which has, at this point, made it pretty clear I'll be going to liquidplumber.com to get the refund they promise when the chemicals don't work. And I'll be following instructions I've just been reading about online to open up & clean out the bend in the sink's drain pipes. The "trap," homeowners apparently call it. It's going to be messy and require precautions; the prospect has me wishing I hadn't poured the chemicals in there. Then after that, as one website says, "if the steps above do not work, you'll need to snake the drain, which is gross, but thoroughly entertaining."
It was considered entertaining to watch the aftermath of, was snaking, by some lesbians regarding this one actress supposedly having just done it in a bathtub, in the movie Bound. I am a bad lesbian. I can't remember her name. Plus I didn't want to get in the tub with her & the grossness.
- + = + -
I have to remind myself sometimes that I'm not actually acquainted with other members of her family. She conveys a lot with her stories. Not just in the what, but the how she tells.
It's sad, his coming to the end of life. A fundamental loss, no matter your familial configuration, state of relations, situation. For them and, of course, for him. Maybe in the next few days she'll be hearing new stories about the man, such as people come up and tell you about your newly dead loved one, or stand up and tell everyone. But all the ideas in the world about the end of suffering, and part of nature, they're no comfort, regardless of how many times someone suggests they are, or could be, or wishes they were, or asserts them at you, and regardless of the fact that they're entirely true.