It seems like it is hiding a lot on Tuesdays. It takes a special consciousness to find the bungalow. I have to keep part of me in the present and slip back in time, one or two lifetimes, at the same time. That’s easier to do when my thoughts are of existential matters, and impossible when the day has me deep in research, and scheduling. If writing in multiple notebooks is involved, all bets are off.
It’s strange that the current pile of notebooks on my desk seemed to pull me right into the warmth of gran’s kitchen. She had a notebook, no doubt a series of them, that sat on a little shelf below the kitchen telephone. The notebook was for keeping the grocery list. It lived by the phone because when it was time to buy groceries, she called K’s Market and read the list to Mr. K. and the groceries were delivered later in the day.
Why did people think going to a supermarket was an improvement over this? I always hated the time it took. I started ordering groceries online when I lived in Westchester, and kept my own notebook beside the laptop. Now that I live so far from a market, I have to pick up my own order, but at least I don’t have to run all over the store first. Gran had it better, don’t you think?
Tales from the jolly bungalow 