February 17, 2013

Drove home last night through swirling tunnels of snow. The ground is nearly bare this morning. I don’t know where it all went.

Steve the Plumber does not rebuild the wall he swore he would come the next day to rebuild. I recall that he didn’t do the mop-up last time, either, leaving me without a light in my cellar. To forgive is to get whacked again.

Cantaria spaghetti supper looked like a great success, with the room packed beyond capacity. I don’t know that the money has been counted yet. I couldn’t stay for the whole event, but had enough time for heart-to-heart talks with men I have not talked much with before. I was receiving invitations on all sides which I did not know how to honor, or even process. Happy time. I was as resisting that particular happiness at first, but stopped when I caught myself in the act

General dissatisfaction with the direction of Mikado. I do observe, though, highly skilled performers doing the right thing even when they have been misdirected, so the disaster is not going to be as great as if we were really listening to the befuddled old lady.

Woke immeasurably sad.  Working that off.