Wednesday

Today was a low key day. Wednesdays are like that, because I slink around our home keeping away from the perfectly wonderful woman who keeps our house. There is no good reason for this, only I can’t talk to her and she can’t talk to me, which usually ends in confusing confrontations that serve us better avoided. If not, she talks and talks, slowly, gesturing, knowing I don’t understand nine tenths of what she’s telling me, while I smile and keep from saying the few things I know really well: Good Afternoon! I’m upstairs! Thank you so much! and Do you have the small oyster cocktail, tonight? Rosy did not throw away any of our food today, nor did she rearrange any dishes. I tricked her by not having gone to the grocery store for any new food since last week, and having put all the damn dishes away last night. I spent my day writing captions for Flickr photos and laying low, reading stuff online: the surviving fishermen rescued* last week across the Pacific (from their starting point in southwestern Mexico) arrived in the Marshall Islands yesterday only to get grilled by the press. No one is arguing that there were originally two extra guys in the boat, anymore. People seem to be concerned that they were out to deliver drugs in their little twenty-five foot fiberglass motorboat, not catch sharks. I can see the suspicion: they keep claiming they made fishing supplies out of the cables and springs in their motor, but why would shark fishermen not already carry deep sea fishing stuff? And how come family at home don’t tell the same story about how long they were missing? And how come nobody seems to know the identities of the men who died? [Cavin]

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