There’s war brewing between Russia and Ukraine, the U.S. Surgeon General’s entire family has Covid, and there is a storm coming. For all these reasons, we had to chop going to the symphony tonight. As a friend of mine once said, “I am always good with not doing things.” Cancelling always seems like a surprise gift. That I think this way is probably the real gift since I can’t recall ever being disappointed by not doing something.
The guest cat has increased the circumference of his territory. He is now periodically invited to venture forth into the non-office areas of the house. His first venture took him nose to nose with the 70-lb Alaskan Husky who beds down in the next room. Swirl was unimpressed until the cat touched his paw and then he pulled back his paw and curled up tighter on his bed. Later, there was a bit of a snapping incident, but I didn’t see the originating offense. Hercules, the guest cat, seems somewhat more circumspect but undeterred in his explorations.
To me, just me, not speaking for anyone else, the Olympics have been a drag this year. An endless amount of half-pipe competition and big hysteria about people falling down. Curling has been interesting but more so for the puzzlement over how those folks slide so easily on the ice without skates than who is actually winning. It’s hard to watch curling without wanting a pair of those shoes and a chance to slide that giant rock on the ice. It’s like rock bowling but with brooms and no pins.
I am curating essays for inclusion in a book. This is a process of separating the wheat from the chaff, as they say, except most of it seems like chaff, whatever that is. So, now I am wondering if it’s possible to get away with publishing a ten-page book. It’s early in the mining. I’ve just strapped on my headlamp and gone down the mine shaft to the stack of workshopped essays in an accordion folder on my desk. The essays have comments and reactions written in pencil by the workshop director, hers being the comments I most take to heart. I read her tiny, penciled comments and hope she wasn’t too kind.
Just a few people were swimming when we went to the county pool the other day. The sun streamed in through an entire wall of windows and the water was still, blue, and as clear as glass. Two lifeguards watched us swim in a pool the first time in two years. I swam breaststroke one way and freestyle back, submerging on the start of each length so I could come up to the surface and see all the smoothness in front of me. It was as sublime a time as I can ever remember. Perfection.