A freaky and ugly thing happened to us Thursday night. Someone opened the (generally unlocked) back door, and walked out with my pocketbook, Al's wallet and my daughter's Macbook. We were in the house, asleep upstairs. No one was hurt, nothing else was taken, no unpleasant surprises were left for us, but it still feels nasty.
After spending most of Friday on the phone to credit card companies, in the bank changing account numbers and at the registry getting a temporary license so I could drive again, I find myself mourning the working systems I had in place. The calendar/day runner thing that they don't make anymore. The phone that had all the numbers in it (I am grateful my number didn't change) that I need to recollect and get in somehow. The sketchbook.
I feel like keening over the sketchbook – it had some trees and some shells and the pugs from my brother's house… I was practicing seeing the island, not using the camera, and now those results are gone. Oddly, I seem to want to throw out more stuff rather than get new to replace things. I don't quite understand that. Going on a cleaning spree as a result of a burglary?
But that has been my weekend, except I also got to see Hamelt, which was teriffic, and help with the set strike which was speedy and raucous and fun, and lunch with my group.