Not me.

Grayson and Heather came over after lunch at Zachary's. Meantime I had lunch down at 'the Marina' ala Hot Dog Depot. Watched the white pelicans tread water. A young woman and, I figured after listening a bit, her attorney joined me for the ambiance at the next bench facing the river. Beautiful day, lovely weather. And that nice old couple at the Hot Dog Depot are always so friendly and smiley.

Grayson and Heather and I enjoyed some quiet time together. Gray picked out some family photos to take back to Chicago, and I offered to Heather a bowl of fresh organic strawberries. I gave her the pretty scarf I used Saturday to wrap around the cremains container. (It was a favorite scarf of Kim's, black with haloed angel cats.) Gray checked out the long-forgotten face impression of Kim left on the top bookshelf in the back room. I'm afraid to move it and have all the pins collapse, inevitable as that will be; to witness it remains a special experience for those who knew her contours.

I could not meet with my friends yesterday evening. I have not seen these Monday-night friends since early April. I got half-way there and doubted my motivation. A quick inventory revealed nothing but distaste for inventories. What was I thinking? I'm lucky to have good friends who'll see me every week.

I took a nap after Grayson and Heather left for their return flight. I had a dream I was shuffling things around in the house when I should have put them away or cleaned them out. Kim was putting these things out of sight, which is her style, such as the shopping cart in the kitchen which she placed out of sight in the narrow hallway to the garage. I realized shuffling things around was a mistake when I tried to get into the garage and couldn't squeeze by the shopping cart. That Kim! (At least the kitchen looked tidy without the cart in there.) I was startled awake when my kitchen timer alarmed it-is-time-to-get-up.

I ate the pizza slices Gray brought and the last of the Newman's Own Espresso Chocolate Chip Cookies, pouring the crumbles at the bottom of the bag down my gullet. I almost didn't make it to my Buddhist service and meditation tonight: I doubted my motivation. Yet it was warm and supporting without being intrusive. I'm the luckiest guy, not the loneliest guy, in the world. Not me.