With warm weather, Caz has taken to leading me around the house and into the woods instead of just walking along the road (and as close to the road as he's willing to mark).

So I saw this chunk of yellow plastic. I picked it up to toss it in the trash, and realized it was a chalk-line marker. It must have been dropped by the guys who took down the cherry tree that tried to take down my house last fall.

It didn't work, but having spent a winter in the snow, etc, that's no surprise.

So, a non-functional chunk of cheap tool. You can buy one of these at Amazon for about five bucks. This was a Stanley tool, so it's more expensive, but still.

I should just throw this out.

So I disassembled it and found it was jammed with muck and mud and the string was soaking wet.

Another good reason to throw it out.

So I cleaned out all the gunk (I now have a blue-stained sink) and took it into the basement, fastened one end of the string to a shelf and started un-reeling the string so it could dry.

It stretched the entire length of my basement.

Three times.

But, the next morning, the string was dry. I reassembled the tool, and everything worked. I rewound the string using the handy-dandy handle and was pretty pleased with myself.

Except that now I have a blue chalk-line running the entire length of my basement.

Three times.

That's OK. I have a standard manual type vacuum cleaner, as well as the Roombas.

One thing about grief is that it's easy to prepare for the big things. Christmas, New Year's, Valentine's day and birthdays are known commodities and you can plan and prepare.

What catches you are the little, stupid things.

Almost exactly thirty years ago, February of 1992, Carol and I attended a con with the intent of spending time together. By then, we'd met in person a few times, talked on the phone several times and there was a definite mutual interest.

So, I got to the Con, contacted Carol and she told me she was in room 1701 and I could meet her there.

Some of you will recognize that number as the designation of the Starship Enterprise. I thought it was interesting that she got the Enterprise number for her hotel room at a SciFi convention.

However, as I headed for her room, I discovered that the numbers stopped at 1300. There was no 1701.

So, I went to room 1071 and knocked on the door, not sure if there'd be an answer or who I'd see.

Carol answered the door. utterly unsurprised that I found her since she had no idea that she'd scrambled the numbers.

Part of our non-date that weekend was a visit to her house so I could lift furniture while she vacuumed beneath it. The cleaning was in preparation for a small birthday party she threw for me on Sunday after the convention was over.

And, I guess that was our first "date."

It also set the kind of pattern we followed - working together on a project with a "fun" thing as a reward when it was complete.

That was the first time I saw this vacuum cleaner. Using the vacuum for the first time since she passed brought back the memory of that period of limerance - the beginning of love when everything is rosy and perfect.

And the realization that some of the seeds for our longer-term relationship were planted then.