It was a good weekend, mostly. I kind of forget Friday night. Saturday, though, was wonderful! Kenna and Anna and I took the bus downtown and went to Hawthorne. Chatted up the owner of Smut and found out how it all started, and then he kind of slyly gave us a few things for free. It pays to be friendly. I feel like I'm getting better at talking to strangers. Instead of just being, you know, petrified and probably off-putting and pretending to be suddenly busy whenever I might have to talk to someone I half-know.
I need to buy more dried cranberries.
I went for a walk over to the cemetery today. It's so... enormous and beautiful. I like to just walk around and read the headstones. I guess that's a little morbid, but they're fascinating. I guess I'm a little morbid - that's probably a better explanation. When I was nine or ten and we still got Columbus's craapy Dispatch, I read the obituaries every day. I can't help it. Death is fascinating and familiarizing it keeps it from being frightening. It was strange; I saw a woman running around with her two dogs, and eventually they settled down by one grave. The dogs sat there and she lit a candle, and they were all still for ten or twenty minutes, like she was performing some kind of ritual. She probably was. I felt like a voyeur, perched several yards above on a hill, on one of those gravestones that doubles as a bench, observing her.
Anyway, photos from this weekend:
It's like I'm in a sepia-toned funk. No good.
More later, maybe.
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