Driving to the All Night Big Box before dawn--to get crackers and fruit for writing group--I noticed the tire lights flashing on the dash, all four. Blue does that when the weather changes, just as her predecessors did, but I'm not complaining. I chose her knowing that her tires are her least stellar features. But I make a mental note to have them checked in the morning before taking to the road.
The air is cool, the sky silver as I drive home. Neil Young is talking about his new memoir--which features his love of cars, and I make a mental note to read it. He's not enamored of beautiful sleek cars; he chooses cars for their "soulfulness"--which now has to be balanced with their effects on the environment.
Margie at the Big Box store has helped me find a garment bag. She's usually a checker; I don't usually see her in the back of the store. "I don't care where they put me," she says, "As long as I get to work here. I love my work. It keeps me busy, keeps my mind off things."
I wonder what things, but I don't ask. I take a mental snapshot of her standing in front of the banks of cheap suitcases and wish I could sketch her there in the place she loves, wish my skills were up to it.
Driving home under the metallic October sky dotted with black birds, I'm excited that I get to spend the next couple of days in the car, driving to Georgia, and excited about arriving there, being there, hoping for full foliage colors. I make a mental note to call a few friends who've sent me cards this week, to thank them. I make a mental note to call Mike--who's invited me to come for a picnic while I'm there.
I also make a mental note to remember to watch the second half of the interview with Elizabeth Gilbert this morning, before writing group.
My mental notes are filling my brain this morning--think I'll go back to sleep for a bit before finishing packing, finishing painting Elena's little rocking chair, and completing the packing of the car for tomorrow morning's departure.
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