I'm always perplexed when I see solitary shoes of all sizes by the side of the road. Something is stealing our shoes.

It's the single child-sized mittens in the grocery store parking lots that I feel sad about, because kid probably dropped it as he was getting bundled into the car and mom won't notice till they get home and she demands to know what happened to the other one.

Reykjavík had a "singles bar" of found mittens pinned up together. Probably many, but I just saw the one. A nice idea, a little hope that the kittens might find them, as it were. I hope the shoe has turned up, Sheryl. Sucks about the mirror.

I am now thinking Last Jedi on Tuesday because I am cheap and the movie theatre is near my bus stop. Read Bloodline and loved it - is there more canon or semi-canon in between RotJ and TFA? A lot apparently happens.

The shoe has not turned up. It probably fell off as I was putting him in the car. We stopped by the synagogue(where the nursery school/daycare is) this afternoon, but there wasn't anyone around. We'll try on Monday to see if anyone turned it in.

One of the guards not here last winter hugged me when I brought cookies to their inservice. And the new director stopped me to ask for the oatmeal cookie recipe for the cookies I took in earlier.

I'm continuing to build my rep.

I would hug you for oatmeal cookies.

My car is littered with shredded dove feathers; I now know what that hawk did when it flew from the tree in the alley.

!! Ick, sarameg.

I am on my way to a luncheon date with one of my major former customers. People we really like and seem to want to collaborate again. ~~ma would be cool.

This was my "party piece" when I moved in poetry circles, a thing I could more or less quote on demand because of the limerick-y rhyme of it.

For Connie:

that one shoe at the side of the road...

That Which Runs the Night Roads

By morning's light, where high roads cross
beneath the signpost standard,
a relic of fear and wonder lies
again, lost, strayed, abandoned.

The reluctant eye of each passerby
is drawn, they see and shudder
then each as quickly looks away
lest that fate befall the observer.

What sort of creature can this be
that preys on hapless travelers?
What stealth, what swift and silent guile,
what strength, to seize such plunder

and take a man with no outcry,
no blot or stain as evidence,
leave only the mute, sad, single shoe
to prove the traveler's existence?

Where bides the beast by light of day
never glimpsed, nor heard, nor scented?
What otherworld hides it from men's eyes
while it waits for dark, unrepented?

Into what realm is the wayfarer snatched
unawares, in what dark abroad,
with naught but the clothes he stands in
bootless and half-shod?

Timelies all!

Back from grocery shopping, and Mr. S has been put down for a nap. Whether he'll actually sleep is anyone's guess.

Oh, that's wonderful!