Saturday afternoon was merely trying. Went to visit aunt and found the place in the middle of 40th anniversary celebrations, meaning a very loud jazz band playing from 2 to 4 and my aunt sitting in the audience. Even when we made our way to our usual table round the corner the saxophonist still drowned out my aunt's frail voice, and when he didn't, the very genki staff and visitor genkily chatting ten feet away sufficed instead. I suppose the staff get used to speaking loudly, but there's no excuse for the visitor.
Was going on a picnic to Riverdale Park with automobiled friend on Sunday, but Saturday night began to suffer from indefinable malaise. Cancelled, went up to lie on sideroom bed, fell asleep, woke at 11, moved to own bed, slept till 8. Twelve hours should put a dent in anything. But tum was still off, as it has been all week- summer stomach or plague, again, who knows. So frittered the afternoon reading mysteries until I pulled myself together and rescued the day with a little domesticity: made soup from vegetable ends, mended perennially holey summer pants (which I hope will last until the cooler weather comes), vacuumed hallway and washed kitchen floor. Then washed the sweat and grime from me and my hair in a grateful shower, and am almost ready for bed again. Good night.
