I have been trying to use my digital camera more; I carry it with me wherever I go, but mostly that just means it gets gum and Liberty Bell stamps stuck to it from floating around in my purse. But I did take this picture of a neighborhood cemetery today. It's weird to see your name on a tombstone, but it will happen one day. Though I prefer to be cremated. I still have Gretel's ashes in a wooden box that resembles a recipe holder. I don't have to scatter her ashes, do I? I want to keep them. Even though I suspect that what I really have is an olio of a Dalmatian named Spot and three cats named Blackie. I doubt they incinerate each animal individually.
Spent a couple of hours at the 10th Street laundromat and was relieved to find that it wasn't too competitive today. I did five loads of laundry. Why so much? I just washed my clothes like a month ago. Eavesdropped on a Spanish conversation between a man and a woman who didn't know each other. The man just kept asking her questions. I'm not sure if I understood correctly, but the gist seemed to be that she didn't work currently and that she's four months pregnant. In case you are thinking I'm being stereotypical, here's what he said, "Something, something trabaja?" "No, no trabajo. Something, something. Un bambino." "Y?" "Quatro meses." "O que bueno." I love doing my laundry and folding the clothes and then putting them away. It feels like I've accomplished something.
I would just like to know if Mitt Romney had a stroke. He must have. Otherwise, why would he talk like he has a mouthful of cotton?