I started the day at work and ended it by going swimming at Walmart. Let's attack this chronologically.
This morning was very busy. I went full speed all morning and never sat down. But Saturday is only four hours, and everything went well. I came home and ate a piece of cheese, planning to go shopping in Goshen and have lunch with you. After I fell asleep eating the cheese I decided to bow to the inevitable and take a short nap, and woke up almost an hour and a half later. I must have been as tired as I thought I was.
I was later getting to Goshen than I'd planned. The rain had started, so I didn't get to eat with you. I went to Lowe's for sink pipe and 40-gallon garbage bags. It was sprinkling off and on when I got to Walmart, so I looked at the radar and decided to take my raincoat inside. (It's your mother's old one from LL Bean.) When I got through the line I found a crowd around the exit door. We were in the middle of a monsoon. It was raining so hard you couldn't see the street, with howling wind and lots of cloud-to-ground lightening. All the smart people were staying inside and waiting for the worst of the storm to pass. Not being very smart, I went back to the cashier for bags big enough to protect the bags of dog and cat food, zipped up the raincoat, and went running out into the storm. Of course, I was parked at the farthest possible point from the store. I loaded groceries into the trunk of the car while standing in water up to my ankles.
I dodged several downed branches on the way home. Jethro was frantic and the cats seemed relieved that the designated driver was here. I fed them and myself, and the storm is well past us now. All the warnings have been lifted. The temperature has dropped considerably. I'm sitting by the windows with a cat in each window sill and the dog on the floor, wearing my white brushed-cotton nightgown that you got me at Muriel's in Holland.
It should be another cool, lovely night for sleeping. The next time I change the sheets I will probably put the flannel ones on. The days are in the 60s, but the nights are cool enough for flannel, especially since you aren't here to warm up your side of the bed. I'm still not used to sleeping alone, you know. I haven't been in the bed without you since 1978. And, as we've said before, you're a hard habit to break.
Addicted to you,
P.S. - Tell your mother thank you for passing her raincoat down to me!