Visit to Poppadaddy

Went down to see Poppadaddy last Saturday. I overslept, but when I called to say I’d be a little late he just chuckled.

Haddonfield is beautiful this time of year. The old trees line the streets, all red and gold. Grass is still green. ANother blue sky day.

Poppadaddy was in good spirits. He was terribly blue a few weeks ago, but he says that has gone away. (Hooray for Zoloft). He’s going to see if he can change the medication, however, because he gets dry mouthed.

We went out to see my mother’s stone. It had taken a long time for them to make it, and they didn’t quite get everything right, but after forgetting to make it in the first place, they seem now to have forgotten to ask to be paid. It was lovely, with a bronze trim in a Greek kind of pattern. Very weird, though, to see her name there.

I still feel out of balance that she’s gone.

I dreamt about my mother for a couple of nights before, a dream I had once about my grandmother. I was in a big, complicated old house, with half floors and twisty hallways and four poster beds, french doors, all sorts of things. In this one, I found myself in one of her rooms and looked around at the decorations, which were me too.

Poppadaddy and Poppy and I went to try a new Mexican restaurant in town. It was ok, for Haddonfield. When I lived there as a teen, the arrival of a cheese shop that sold cheese cake was a big deal.