Small talk

It strikes me that those of us who write about daily life don't, really. We pick one thing and write our thoughts about it, our reactions, what it seems to mean to us. So here are a few bits from my day so far.
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slept late, very relaxed
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up, dressed quickly and out for acupuncture at 10:00
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mind too full of fiction, thinking about this novel I've been reading
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on acupuncture table I imagine making a fiber hanging that would demonstrate how lives are intertwined, influenced, separated. Many thoughts about whether to take a fiber arts course (no), do we have a board I could use, would pushpins do . . . it would be a muted red fiber, between yarn and twine.
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I play with the idea of "my work," of being useful in this world. I think about how when people say that, they really want to matter. To be Someone. I think, the right question is, how can I relieve suffering a little? This gets me thinking about printing a nice photo I took of Tom for my mother-in-law. He had been working outside, and had a holly berry caught in the hinge of his glasses.
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I get very hungry and plan to eat a peach as soon as we get home. They are ripe in the refrigerator and we have to make a plan. I plan to eat two of them today, can't eat five because of the potassium. I want to pick up local corn for dinner, there's at least two servings. I think a whole lot about getting my long hair cut really short. I love my hair, but it mostly annoys me.
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Acupuncturist asks how Sheba is. I tell him her blood draw showed she has kidney disease. We talk about how it is he hasn't got a cat yet. He says they saw one they liked, so they asked their daughter whether she was sure she would take care of it, the box and everything. She said no. So they didn't get a cat. He tells me, "We say, You can do it or not do it, that's okay. But if you say you will take care of it, then you must." I think that's a really good motto for child-rearing. Maybe for your life.
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after breakfast Tom and I talk about getting a locking medicine cabinet for all our prescription drugs. Workmen come in here, and our grandson, who is almost ten. Tom is going to unearth an old medic's tool chest he has with a red cross on it that can be padlocked, and would fit in the linen closet. Good, we agree, not spending money, not having to wrestle with installation, not bringing more stuff into the house.
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we talk about whether we would take extraordinary measures to prolong little Sheba's life if she goes into terminal kidney failure before we die. Syringe feeding yes, hydration no. We are not as attached to the idea of "having" her as we were Sherlock. We would hope to make her end of life more comfortable.
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Enough. It's past noon. I used to have a card on my desk with the saying, "How you spend your days is how you spend your life." It's not usually big and important. On the other hand, it all is.