Tonight the fog came as it always does, to the south, through the valleys between Twin Peaks and Potrero Hill. Planes descended and ascended from SFO like Lite Brite and I wondered how long I can keep from counting down the days.
I emptied the dishwasher. Normally she wipes the leftover moisture, but I think the cups and plates and bowls will dry by themselves in the cupboard. I chopped some carrots and potatoes and slid them into the pork broth. There was some leftover greens left so I sliced the remaining cucumber stump and an apple. There were two scallops from the day before, and I thought they went pretty well grilled with the salad.
The Secret Garden was on the Netflix queue, so I caught the end of movie after dinner was finished. I always loved that book -- how British children were taught the virtues of curiosity and the value of experimenting.
By the time I load the new batch of dishware into the washer, it was 10 pm. Another day, done, just like the days to come. I'm learning to accept the silence.