Last night's dream featured an element in common with the night before. I was going through a box of things that belonged to my grandmother, and my mother was there with me, trying to remember what person or event each item came from. There were keys and newspaper clippings and photos and things that neither of us could identify, just as Ma Joad's box of treasures could be understood only by her.
There was more to the dream, a stay in a holiday cottage rental with some long involved rigamarole about a cat, then packing up and leaving.
Today is a big day around our house because the basketball hoop by the driveway has finally come down. All it took was knocking out two bolts and giving it a little push. It was rusted at the base so over it went. We had spent the morning cleaning leaves and pine needles off the roof of the house, and then my husband was filled with renewed loathing of the basketball hoop and before I knew what he was up to, he had the ladder pulled up to it and wrenches applied.
Since we moved into this house in 2002, the hoop has been useful for catching Spanish moss from the oak tree. That was all it was good for, except for getting in the way of ladders and trailers.
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