The Other End of the Day

Usually I show you the sunrise but today you get to see yesterday's sunset--over the Walmart parking lot.  The grocery store was out of the flavors of on-sale TV dinners that Durwood likes (that's what he eats when I'm away at suppertime) when we were there on Tuesday so I offered to zoom over to Wally World after work to get some (with price match so we still got the sale price) and a big bag of fresh broccoli, our veggie of choice most nights.  As I crossed the bridge over the river in the middle of the city the sun was peeking out of a slit in the clouds so I kept half an eye on it as I drove across the west half of town and by the time I got to Walmart it was glorious.  I restrained myself from trying to snap a picture as I navigated the three roundabouts over Highway 41.  (good girl, those things are crazy)  The picture with the best color is out of focus but if you don't embiggen it you can't really tell.  Much.

Durwood made Chicken Bengali for supper last night and it was deelish.  He makes a paste with melted butter, curry powder (not the hot kind, the sweet kind), dry mustard, flour, and some Worcestershire sauce.  Then you paint it on four skinless chicken thighs and bake them for about 40 minutes.  To. Die. For.  With a little rice and a lot of steamed broccoli it was a feast, and we have leftovers.  We are rich indeed.

October 30--Egon Shiele, Standing Girl, Back View.  Mac saw her at the corner ahead of him.  He was back in the crush of morning people waiting to cross, waiting to slot themselves into a skyscraper and take an elevator to the floor where they would spend their day toiling away, a nameless, faceless tool of a conglomerate that was so far removed from humanity that it could have been run by robots.  Not her, Mac was sure of it.  Her long, red hair danced even on windless days and he knew her eyes danced with appreciation of life, even though he'd never seen them.  He tried to get closer every day, to stand behind her when she stepped off the curb with that spring in her step.  He wanted to be close enough to absorb a bit of her energy and maybe some day he would be brave enough to say "good morning."

I hear the bluejays squawking outside so I'd better go give them their daily peanut ration.  I dole them out because if I filled the peanut wreath they'd have it empty by noon and still be squawking for more, and I can't afford more all the time, we need to conserve so there'll be peanuts when the snow flies, which is predicted to be tomorrow.  Eek!  Bundle up your goblins, princesses, and superheroes tomorrow.
--Barbara