My cat is curled beside me, so I am not alone, but I definitely am blue this morning. There's so much to get done; bills paid, do my taxes, drag my ass over to my Dad's because he's a whiner who could call me if he hadn't been emasculated by my step-mom -- who I do like and care about, thank you. If it wasn't for her, I'd be minding his aging butt. I love him, yes, but I took care of my mother at the cost of my own budding life, for eight years. It may just be that I have done my time and a little besides.
The most pressing task that's coulda, woulda, shoulda last night is go to Publix. If you are outside Florida, Publix is the grocery store to be at.
When I was home with my folks, we schlepped to Winn-Dixie. But rolling my mom and a grocery cart through the aisles there has left me with a somber disdain for the chain. They tore down the store I knew so well and built a shiny new one. Now Winn-Dixie is in the middle of bankruptcy, in spite of the fact that there is a movie about a dog named Winn-Dixie.
I haven't seen the movie and don't intend to until I read the book. Somewhere is my boxes of stuff is a copy of the book that I took from a pile of discarded books at the library.
Discarded books generally go one of three places. Friends of the Library book sale pile, home with one of us, or into the garbage.
I know, I know, some of you are thinking "OMG! How can they throw books away?" Well, honey, get a grip! Lemme list the reasons: a. There are more copies of the same book out there, b. books take a beating and need replacement or they make room on the shelf for something new, c. books that are molded or have book lice will infect the other books, d. that is the transient nature of art, e. you wanna dust them? If they haven't been taken out in a year's time, they are pointless. Our library system circulates more than one million items a year. And we can find almost anything in print in the world and get it to you. The world isn't going to start crumbling if we chuck a nasty hardback copy of... well, anything.
My stepmother had shelves built in the garage to house all of my father's books. He cherishes them and there was a pointwhen I did, too. When he dies, however, they are all going out. Except, I'm sure, for the ones she can sell for big bucks because they are rare. The rest however, have not been preserved and are not valuable but for the information they contain. His value on them is sentimental. A great many of them belonged to his spinster aunt. (Yeah, it's possible I got it from somewhere. It being both literacy and homo-sexuality.)
I have digressed however. In the morning, I like fried eggs, rye toast and Dole Pine-Orange-Banana juice. I am out of the juice. If I'm going to schlepp to the store... well, this little girl can hardly stand to go out without washing her hair and putting on long pants. There are other juices in the fridge, but it's just not the same.
I have Mango-Lime Fiesta (It's lovely by itself or with a shot of coconut rum.) still it's just not the same. P-O-B juice must be a complementary carb or something.
Both Winn-Dixie and Publix are about a mile away, and there are bigger ones a few extra miles in the other direction, too. But what weighs more? My desire to stay warm in bed, doing nothing, or my epicurean senses and grumbling tummy?
No comments:
Post a Comment