A telemarketer called.
I don’t know what he wanted. I didn’t hang up on him. I just put the phone down, got up, fixed lunch, hung out laundry, and then came back half an hour later. He wasn’t there any more. I put the phone back on the receiver.
My grandmother seemed determined to sleep the day away.
The best solution to this, rather than waking her myself, was to let the cat wake her. I let the cat in, I went outside, and ten minutes later she was up.
It’s actually a little dangerous to let the cat wake her. No, the cat won’t do anything to her, but she may do something to the cat.
At times, she loves the cat. At other times, she hates the cat. At times, she says she’s had cats all of her life. At other times, she insists she’s deathly allergic to cats.
In North Carolina, she loved the cats. She couldn’t tell them apart, but she loved them. When she came back to Baltimore, the cats that she had loved were strangers to her, and she hated them.
The danger with letting the cat wake her, then, is that she would either be gentle with the cat or she would scream at the cat.
In this case, she was gentle to the cat. She laughed about the cat waking her up.
And then I have a bloody gash on my left leg. I misjudged a wooden stand, and scraped my leg deeply. It was bloody, and now it’s clotted.
Scott Simon talked to Philip Glenister about Life on Mars this morning. It was a fun interview; NPR played some of Bowie’s song.
If only it were windier. Today’s wonderfully autumn.