snow comin'?

Is an overnight with the sibs a good thing, or a bad thing? Regardless of the fallout, I’m inclined to consider any event that gets Jeff interacting with humans other than me and Gabe to be a plus, but tiredness takes a notable toll.

It’s a little weird, when he walks in the door. How was Rehoboth? I ask. Good, he says. Where did you stay? His face goes blank. Did you guys go out for dinner last night? More blank.

Later he is able to tell me that they stayed in the home of a friend of Cousin Robin’s, but no information about dinner is within reach. He remembers that he stayed on a bed that was not so comfortable, and that he was cold. And he thinks he was in Cape May. Rehoboth, I remind him. Pointlessly, actually. A quick forensic examination of the duffel bag reveals that the clean t-shirt and briefs I sent went unused, but a hand-towel from the host house came home with him. Bedtime, I think, will be early tonight.

Will be for me too, if I finish this Pinot.

Clarence the cross-eyed muse, on the other hand, seems to be right on the ball today as I edit Weird Tale #4, or what exists of it, so far. Well, Clarence is a help. But there’s also Friday’s acupuncture, which seemed--at least for the first 48 hours--to cause all my inward negativity to blurble up in great glarbs and splots until, well--for today at least--I’m left with a little inner tranquility and a bit of creative energy.

I do not understand the latest Giant Food retrofit. I went there today. Not something I do often, but we needed o.j. and mango chutney (yes, we needed that,) and even though the same cute Asian produce man asked me if I needed help finding something 3 times, I still could not help but feel that Giant, in its newest incarnation, is designed to drive humans crazy, much in the way of a Walmart.

And yet, not everyone detests Walmart, nor was Giant--on the eve of what they say will be 5-8 inches of snow--suffering for want of customers. No. In spite of the fact that the aisle shelving now towers ominously over you like trash compactor walls in a nightmare sequence, Giant has customers. It is clear that my brain, like my foot, was not the model upon which the marketing wonks based their mainstream prototype. Which is fine, as long as there’s Trader Joe’s. And teriyaki tofu at good Japanese restaurants. With chopsticks.