Good Grief 303

We just don't know what we inherit.

My cousin was the last one here, staying for a few days with her husband. She spent a lot of time with us growing up and knew and loved my parents well. She lives in a fastidiously kept modern suburban home.

I arrived this evening to discover crumbs under the toaster. Crumbs under the toaster.

I live in an untidily unkempt country cottage where the toaster surfs tsunamis of crumbs.

Within moments of arriving I am reacquainted with bleach (which I never have around) and there has been much obsessive wiping of crumbs. Hijacked by .... me...and everything that small word means, both conscious and unconscious.

'Out, damn'd spot! out, I say!—One; two: why, then
'tis time to do't.—Hell is murky.—Fie, my lord, fie, a soldier, and
afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our pow'r to accompt?—Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?'

You've gotta love and hug a mutant.
The girls have flit flitted away. I think they were enticing decoys.
It's just me and the mutant.
Just as it should be.
I guess it was inevitable.
We are simply going to have to get to know one another and that feels just right.

As I drove I was delighted to rediscover Kant and moral responsibility. I fell in love with maestro Pappanno. And the wonder of dots! The fascination of the world of miniature art, of introversion and control and sheer wonder. And a play that was downright uncanny.