The big excursion of the week was a trip to a nearby town to get a sandwich at a drive-thru window, and walk around in a cemetery for a while. It was a good sandwich, and it’s a nice cemetery. Historic. (The cemetery, not the sandwich.) There was no real purpose to the cemetery trip. I don’t have any relatives buried there, and probably only a handful of people that I even knew. It’s still a beautiful place. They’ve renovated the old stables to be event space, and put in (or possibly just re-seeded) a duck pond. Ducks? Well, yes. And some swans… and a plague of Canadian Geese. They roost a little close to the sidewalks for my tastes, and their presence is well proven by droppings.
The other end of the cemetery is less Bird-errific. Joggers, walkers, and history buffs welcome. You don’t have to watch where you step.
Tracked down a few historical graves, and the most recent acquaintance to be buried there. I hadn’t been to his grave, before, so I figured I ought to, since it wouldn’t be a special trip.
All in all, it was a good sandwich.
As soon as I got back home, I had to turn around and go right back. Yet another family member is in the hospital, and apparently talking to the florist is an in-person event. So it was decreed, anyway. And as the resident creative–writers know everything about floral design, right?– I was nominated. I’m not sure if that’s a family “thing” or if it has more to do with the fact that the hospital only allows one visitor per patient per day, and most of us are too low on the list to get a day. (In case you were wondering, the appropriate, pre-covid number is “so many family members and friends I can’t even name them all, and is that the guy who picks up the recycling?”
I think that adds up to three or four hours in the car, today.
Flowers arrive tomorrow at ten in the morning.