Just...
Not here. Rain dipped in and took the sizzle out of the day. And droplets bathed the night in much-needed cool.
When the weather has no chill, everything frays at the edges. The weather had chill. This was not always so...
Flash the fuck back.
I was forced to sit in the doorway, eating sweet food, drinking cheap coffee, as the cared-for sat out in the sun. She had a cold drink to keep her going through the heat.
I was forced to sit in the doorway, eating sweet food, drinking cheap coffee, as the cared-for sat out in the sun. She had a cold drink to keep her going through the heat.
When the breeze picks up, her time in the garden is done, and I bring in the chair.
Later, indoors, she called me. For once, yes, once, the sign on the back of the door worked. It's a reminder to tell me where she's going if she leaves the house.
A sign she ignores. Mostly. Not this time.
Well, this time she paid attention to the writing on the back of that door. A few doors along, she'd been called by the near-neighbour. I don't know if that call happened. She wanted to go along on a visit. I let her go.
The heat was too much, so I sat at the window, with an angled view of the gate she wandered through. The visit went ahead, lasted a few minutes, and was over - fuss-free.
I watched her return. She stopped to stare at a parked car. Something in the back seat attracted her attention. Then she was home. I locked the door.
Sunny days bring wanderlust, and I must watch over her. Rain. I don't think rain's ever been so welcome.
The rain came. It's here now as I type away, and here as I publish the blog. In all this time, taking in shopping from the supermarket delivery van, I never collected shopping in rain.
Until today.
Until today.
I find that unusual. You'd think I'd catch a lot of rain in winter. But the delivery driver would always turn up ten minutes before rain or five minutes after.
So changing, the weather is. If he'd turned up on time today, I'd have missed the rain yet again.
Indoors, rain at the windows, I had to look through paperwork. This was a saga that carried through the night. Fresh in my mind, an old piece of actual genuine paper jumped from the pile.
Jury duty. Her stint, for which the authorities granted her excusal. The paperwork from that time was pretty much like the online form I stared at myself not so long ago.
My mother was excused jury duty years before, and the guide looked almost unchanged. I found the letter from her doctor giving the reasons for the excuse.
My mother was excused jury duty years before, and the guide looked almost unchanged. I found the letter from her doctor giving the reasons for the excuse.
All of this made it into my blog, from memory, when I faced the call of duty myself. But here was the physical reality in front of me, as a bookmark, footnote, what have you.
Things are random. And I've dredged up physical evidence of mere memories that littered recent blog posts. I don't feel like writing about the funny moments, the easier times, and the witticisms displayed by someone with dementia...
Instead, I've kept all the recent humour to myself. Keeps me going. Positivity, in the face of negativity.
Felt like sharing the discovery of that evidence, the paperwork: confirmation of the things I was saying in previous blogs.
And that should be it for jury duty. Unless they still want me again, next year. It'll be raining, I'm sure.
Instead, I've kept all the recent humour to myself. Keeps me going. Positivity, in the face of negativity.
Felt like sharing the discovery of that evidence, the paperwork: confirmation of the things I was saying in previous blogs.
And that should be it for jury duty. Unless they still want me again, next year. It'll be raining, I'm sure.
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