10.23.2012

I dreamed about an orphan boy who had been crippled with polio. He was perhaps 7 or 8 years old, black hair, olive skin, thin bent over and walked with difficulty. No one would adopt him, so he was due to be shipped out to the big concrete orphanage forever warehousing place. The social worker in charge of finding him adoptive parents, in her desperation to save him and as a last resort, took him up the hill to the vast rambling shack of a thin overworked motherwoman, black, who already had adopted 14 children. She agreed, resignedly, to adopt the boy, too, and add him to her brood. She stood at a stove stirring soup in a large pot as they talked. I think she resisted at first but finally was convinced to accept him.

I dreamed about many other things. In memory I see faces and have impressions of places and clothes and movements. And I can't articulate any of it.

***

The world is gray and white today and very cold. Some snow fell overnight and continues now midday to fly sideways across the block of yellowdeadweed vacant lots we look out on from our big windows here at the Old Same Place. I am sleepy. My bones hurt and there is a catch in my back from having slept funny.

Hot shower. Bufferins. Grab brotherB and head out for groceries and bookscouting. Over the weekend we brought home all our winter clothes from storage, so I have many warm sweaters to choose from.

10.22.2012

A little snow overnight, turned to rain by 7 a.m. I heard the big wind start up around 1, pounding the house, Figured that cold front was sliding by.

Good sleeps lately, good sales, good homemaking. Writing, not so much. Now that we have a real stove it seems almost like a real home here at the Old Same Place. Hotplate & microwave don't really work, hearth-wise. Goddess has no place to hang.

Goldfish in the trough out back are slowing down some. I noticed when I fed them yesterday they'd grown a lot in the last couple of weeks. Ravenous, they are, packing it on for the Big Sleep. Amazes me how the troughwater can freeze but somewhere a little pocket of not-ice exists for the fishies to hunker down in 'til the thaw mid-Spring.

Pages to keyboard this morning, mending to finish and iron, books to wrap and mail. Quiet. Grimgray & chill. Winter's dipping a toe in.