SeaOtter of Bluster
Mar. 5th, 2026 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoFeeling tired and with only a few odds and ends in my bag of coping strategies. I was awake too much in the night, and thus slept later in the morning, and forgot to hustle, so I didn't carry out my plan of grocery shopping in the a.m. We had a nice zoom with Deb and the Prussian. Nobody is having any emergencies at the moment. I fixed up a birthday card for the Philosopher. It was a pop-up card featuring jars of fireflies. I had a funny feeling as I looked at it. Some buried memory stirred within me, and I thought "Once upon a time, there was a time called summer. The evenings were warm and long. There were green leaves on the trees. Fireflies rose from the grass. They say this time will come again . . . but when it comes, will it find faith on the earth?" I wished the Philosopher many happy summer memories to come, so it must happen.
I dashed out to the store just before supper, because there was (almost) literally nothing to eat. There always is SOMETHING to eat around here, but there wasn't anything convenient or anything that fit my secret plan, which I usually have in the back of my mind. I brought home a cooked chicken and some potato salad and mac and cheese for the Sparrowhawk, from the deli. Also some KozyShack rice pudding, which really has a pretty decent roster of ingredients, not too much weird stuff, and which the Sparrowhawk likes. And a bunch of bananas. They have calories and go well with rice pudding. I'm still working on improving his nourishment.
We have declined an invitation to attend a funeral this weekend. It was going to be held at 10 am, in a place that is 2+ hours away. You do the math. We just can't get up that early any more. I could do the driving, but it would still upset the Sparrowhawk's schedule too much. He sent the friend who invited us (it's the friend's dad who is getting the send-off) a note explaining this, and I'm sure he understands, but it is saddening nonetheless. Deb was remembering how her mother, a formidable person in her prime, got older and stopped going places at night, and how Deb felt indignant. I remember when my own father quit going to funerals and things, and I too was indignant. "Oh for Pete's sake--pull yourself together!" Now, alas, I understand. There's a difference between grandly deciding that you WON'T do something, and realizing that maybe you just CAN'T. But, intimations of mortality or not, I know I'm going to feel sneakily victorious on Saturday night when I'm at home in my own bed. . . .
I dashed out to the store just before supper, because there was (almost) literally nothing to eat. There always is SOMETHING to eat around here, but there wasn't anything convenient or anything that fit my secret plan, which I usually have in the back of my mind. I brought home a cooked chicken and some potato salad and mac and cheese for the Sparrowhawk, from the deli. Also some KozyShack rice pudding, which really has a pretty decent roster of ingredients, not too much weird stuff, and which the Sparrowhawk likes. And a bunch of bananas. They have calories and go well with rice pudding. I'm still working on improving his nourishment.
We have declined an invitation to attend a funeral this weekend. It was going to be held at 10 am, in a place that is 2+ hours away. You do the math. We just can't get up that early any more. I could do the driving, but it would still upset the Sparrowhawk's schedule too much. He sent the friend who invited us (it's the friend's dad who is getting the send-off) a note explaining this, and I'm sure he understands, but it is saddening nonetheless. Deb was remembering how her mother, a formidable person in her prime, got older and stopped going places at night, and how Deb felt indignant. I remember when my own father quit going to funerals and things, and I too was indignant. "Oh for Pete's sake--pull yourself together!" Now, alas, I understand. There's a difference between grandly deciding that you WON'T do something, and realizing that maybe you just CAN'T. But, intimations of mortality or not, I know I'm going to feel sneakily victorious on Saturday night when I'm at home in my own bed. . . .
