Written December 19th, 2015 4:30 AM

Hi Mom and family,

I set the alarm for 5:00 AM this morning but woke at 4:00. It's a lot less cold this morning, we've gone from five degrees "below normal for this time of year" to five degrees "above normal". But it's still chilly enough for a fire in the morning.

It's nice to look at the fire burning in the Ben Franklin, with the area around it swept and tidy (for the first time in many, many months). I have not yet put back any of the "collection" of dust-catching cast-iron items which we always have had sitting on either side of it. Four cast-iron pots are not any more striking to look at than one, and they are a lot more trouble to dust!

One of the cast-iron items which I will continue to display is the griddle which belonged Dale Sr.'s maternal grandfather. It is around a foot and a half long, oval on each in, with a raised, rounded edge all around it.

I worked all morning and part of the afternoon on the house.

Sylvia came over and we chatted over coffee for about an hour. We sat in the living room, which at that time was still the only clean room.

She had just returned from the funeral of Kinsharel, one of the students who had been in my drama club, years ago. The girl, only in her mid-twenties, died of a cerebral hemorrage (Sylvia thinks) a complete surprise. Kinsharel was obese, but not hugely so.  At that age, it is not even recommended that one go for regular physicals!

"I should have told you, and you could have come with me," Sylvia said. "In the whole church, I was the only person there not African-American."

Sylvia had kept contact with Kinsharel over the years on Facebook. Also, back when she was in middle school, of Kinsharel's close friends were in the group of kids who attended Sylvia's teen group at the Episcopalian church, though Kinsharel did not attend that church. While in middle school, she lived with her father, and neither attended church, to my knowledge.

I told Sylvia, with a sigh, that I don't think I could have found the energy to make all the way into central Phoenix for the funeral.  I have only a few days left before I have to go out of town again, and so much still to do at home.  And I only knew Kinsharel briefly, years ago, one of twenty kids at a once-a-week drama club meeting for half of a school year. But enough that I am saddened to hear about it. It's always especially sad when it's a young person.

I once went to a party, a children's birthday party at the home of a hispanic friend who was living with an African-American man, where I was the only caucasian. But it would have been common for Kinsharel to be the only African-American in the room, living in mostly-white Apache Junction, a working-class place, a place where many people do not have education and are often backward in their additudes about race, and she was quite dark.

After Sylvia left, I did some more on the house and then went to Starbucks to do check e-mail. I wanted to check if people had rsvp'd to my beading meetup, and to send an e-mail to the two girlfriends whom I haven't seen all fall, telling them that I would be home during the evenings this weekend, if they would like to drop by. One of them hasn't been to my house for a long time (we've tended to meet at coffee-houses or restaurants) so I included that scanned map that I displayed in yesterday's blog.

Then I went to Safeway and bought beer, wine, crackers, cheese, cookies, etc. just in case either of my friends do stop by. I also got ingredients to make spaghetti.

While I was out, Dale Sr. had gone to get the rest of the cord of wood which he had paid for, and stacked it.

A cord of wood is four feet by four feet by eight feet. The most we ever burn is one cord per year, or a little over. But Dale Sr.'s friend John Doucette, who lives in Pine Top in northern Arizona, burns around eight cords a year, even though they have a furnace also. (Right now, Pine Top has eighteen inches of snow.)

Sorry this is the only photo for today's blog!  And not focused either. 


Love,
Lennie