I Sit Here, Thinking ...

... of things that I could write about.

There's the hammering over at the house behind us--a new roof on the garage. Hammering means only one thing: It must be close to nap time.

I find, this morning, that I can't remember the exact wording of one of the poems I've memorized. I can't find it online--though I do find the poet: Laura Riding. So I order a paperback collection of her poems. 

When the book comes, I probably won't remember why I ordered it.

I see some political posts on Facebook that annoy me--that are based on a trembling foundation of factoid and fancy.

But I won't get into it: It's pointless. My BP will go up--and not too many people are changing their minds these days.

I just fed my sourdough starter for tomorrow's baking.

But I write too much about that. It's starting to bore even me.

I read some grand pages today by Joyce Carol Oates in her new novel (Night. Sleep. Death. The Stars.--2020). But I did a major post about her a week ago (or so). It's a LONG novel--800 pp. But I'll finish it early next week and will do a larger post about it next weekend.

Maybe.

Yesterday evening Joyce and I drove down into the Cuyahoga Valley National Park to Szalay's Farm and Market--bought some fresh corn, local honey, and some other goodies. But I've written about that place a lot, too.

Don't think I'll do so today.

Today is the Farmers' Market in Hudson--over on the Green, only about a hundred feet away from our house. Should I go over and then write something about it?

Nah.

Twice a week I have to fire up our 2010 Corolla and let it run for 20-30 minutes--keep the battery alive. We haven't actually driven it in weeks--maybe months. We don't drive the other car much, either; we add gas only about once a month. If that.

I just wrote too much about that.

I'm wearing reading glasses right now: 2.0 magnification. My eyes get tired when I read, and my Rx glasses seem to get weary, too.

Zzzzzzzz.

I don't as yet have any evident sour side-effects from the new cancer med I started about a week ago. 

Boring.

Reading physicist Brian Greene's new book (The End of Time, 2020), I'm realizing I should have paid closer attention in science classes.

Let's not get into that.

Hilary Mantel's The Mirror & the Light (2020), the concluding volume in her trilogy about Thomas Cromwell, Henry VIII, et al., is long. I think I began reading it right after we got married in 1969.

Enough of that.

Should schools open fully this fall? Well, if I were still teaching, I would probably take a leave of absence. And cry for a year. It's horrible, what families and children have had to endure since COVID arrived. And teachers. And all other school employees. The grim choices facing all.

Enough grimness.

I wish I weren't so dizzy all the time.

(I'll bet you're tired of reading about that!)

It's wonderful seeing our son, his wife, their two sons (11 and 15) once a week or so out on the front porch. What's not wonderful is being unable to invite them into the house--to hug them for all I'm worth.

Too much?

We very much miss our friends Chris and Michelle. But they're as wary as we are about COVID--maybe more so.

Shall we have a Pity Party? (Remember that one?!!?)

And as for face masks ...!?

And street demonstrations ...?!

And anonymous law-enforcement officers ...!?

And ...?!

That's enough--don't you think. The hammering on the nearby garage roof continues, but I'll probably head up for a nap anyhow.

Right now.