Saturday. Did I write yesterday? Was it oily? No that was the day before. Still leaping around the Michael Palin Diaries: The Python Years. I’m going to have to return it to the library soon. Oddly enough, the latest entry I read was about the Tim Rice program where Michael Palin and John Cleese had to defend Life of Brian from two high falutin clerics from the Church of England who attacked the film without having seen it. I say oddly enough since for me it was quite important and engrossing.

It’s humorous watching it 45 years later on YouTube, Cleese and Palin are still alive, the clerics no doubt grappling with what they thought was an afterlife and the realization that with all the money they fleeced from their flocks, they couldn’t take it with them, and the Messiah they worshipped, if he’s out there would more than likely admonish and perhaps condemn them for their views and their actions.

Or maybe not.

I am not one to pronounce what happens after this life since I simply do not know. I embrace the thought that the spirit or soul or essence goes out to the ever-expanding universe.

Or maybe not.

Today, like I started with, is Saturday. My dreams have become quite odd. The ones I remember involve working. Last dream, I was working with my sister in some capacity. It was sort of in Hoboken. My neighbor Claire made an appearance. And not much work was being done which for me is not the norm, I do prefer to be busy. Makes the time go faster.

Today I was somewhat busy. I helped Bill out on 2 projects and was quite happy to do so. We had plans to go for a walk which for me meant going to the supermarket. I made a quick stop at the cigar shop, leaving Bill at home to finish one of his projects. That took longer than expected and when I came back to the building Bill was still working.

That was fine, I was already street level, so I let him know I was headed to the supermarket solo. No big deal. As I was almost done with picking up some groceries, Bill let me know he was on his way. I was not sure if he was going to shop for himself and told him I did get some things for him. It turned out he was getting his own stuff.

Blueberries? He got his own so I returned the organic blueberries because he was getting the bigger GMO blueberries that were a few dollars more. How many times is organic produce cheaper than non-organic produce? What matters to me does not matter to him. Then again, he has a job whereas I do not.

Then the walk home was stressful with words thrown back and forth. I was accused of rushing him through his projects. I most certainly did not do anything like that. If anything, I gave him a wide berth to do whatever it was he needed to do as I was prepared to do what I needed to do, alone.

I like to think he realized that. He seemed to, as things defrosted quite quickly by the time we got home.