The cat remembered me at That Guy Who Brushes Me. The garden remembered me as That Guy Who Hasn’t Weeded Me in Three Weeks. Those pernicious buttercups are in bloom, which will make them easier to seek and destroy. The computer chided me for not updating the virus protection since I last turned it on. A big stack of mail awaits the letter opener and the recycle bin.
A season has transpired. The lettuce and chard are up, and need thinning. When I left the leaves were just turning out on the maples. Now they are in full leaf. The tulips are nearly spent. The daphne is in full bloom, and the primrose blossoms form a red carpet among the roses and alium.
I have just enjoyed a Shabbat meal of lamb and cauliflower, my first home cooked meal in weeks. I am sitting with the computer and a glass of Drambuie by the window, where I can get a wireless signal from our house across the street. Thelonious Monk is playing on the stereo. Elly’s new roommate, Debbie, is working on Robin’s back. She’s in massage school, and this is her homework. Gee, my neck is hurting from three weeks of a camera draped around it. I wonder what can be done about that?
Oh it’s nice to be home.
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