octe nas

I drank half a bottle of port last night to fall asleep, and watched part of LA Confidential this morning to wake up. Sweet Eugene's makes a coffee called Al Pacino that comes in a big mug, with just a hint of almond to it. I would drink it all the time, if I lived here.

While Alan fixes his tie, I string black and copper beads on a wire. We're leaving for the funeral soon. I don't know why I record this blow by blow, but I haven't anything else to do.

Last night I ate too much marshmallow salad, which they call watergate salad here. It's mostly coolwhip and pistachio and marshmallows, and vaguely sea foam green. For some reason it's good, and I always eat it at funerals.

(no subject)

Just got back from the burial services out in Cook's Point. It's a little old-fashioned church with stained glass windows out in the farmlands, with a cemetary out behind it. The headstones are old, and close together. Grandpa Nowak wanted to be buried out beside his parents. There were a few tiny headstones for babies that lived barely more than a month. It reminded me a bit of where we buried my grandfather, out in the middle of nowhere in the Texas dust.

I suppose I feel a little better now that I've done my crying. I just want to be home now, away from all the bustle. There was a huge crowd at the cemetary this afternoon. I want to be home.

Time to eat some more watergate salad and take some ibuprofen.