Dinner last night with Nephew No 1’s family, including his autistic BIL who drives me nuts with constant random chatter, mostly about himself. I departed as soon as I decently could, pleading an early start but actually craving a quiet sit with the cat.

Nothing heard from Tosh. His trash connection is a dumpster contractor who tips him off to imminent removal of half-full skips around town, thus allowing Tosh to avoid dumping fees. (I would prefer just to pay the damnable fees and get the garage cleared in a timely fashion.) I’m far more interested in getting the excess hardwood returned to Home Depot, however. Trash clearance is a surprisingly popular service around here.

Today I must haul the smaller rugs to the cleaners. They are rolled up and propped against the stack of winter tires in the garage, and the tires have to be in the back of the car before 0800 hr tomorrow. At 0830, said car is due at the shop for its semi-annual service and change of wheels. Sometimes I think my life is one long game of Jenga — this block has to go before that block or the whole thing collapses.