I made two miscalculations last month. First, my reading schedule included too many fat books and I never did get around to slipping the really big one in, and second, I made the mistake of assuming Carlyle’s French Revolution would be a pleasant educational break from all that confusing fiction.
I forgot: It’s all fiction!
Continue reading “Goodbye 2020”
My reading has reached an unimagined high level, partially due to the current pandemic and also a sign of a final rush to read all those lovely titles I have coveted through the years but so far failed to read (Intimations of Mortality). I mused with slowing the flow and concentrating on a select group of gaggers which would otherwise never be allocated the time required to read one, two, even three thousand pages.
Continue reading “Slipping the Big One In”
Another month in isolation. It’s raining (it’s always raining). I’m reading books and watching Criterion. T***p is well along the way to self destruction (there are still predictions out there insisting T***p will not make it to November). I’m living on cauliflower and smoked salmon dreaming of meatloaf in mushroom gravy. Sometimes I am envious of T***p’s Big Macs and KFC.
I don’t know if there is any connection with this pandemic isolation but I am feeling older and older. I rely on my rolling walker to make even the shortest trip across the bedroom (especially at night). I have to ask my son-in-law to open jars for me. My eyes water constantly and I find myself making the computer font larger almost weekly. I still have a sense of humor and a trickle of a sex drive (ha! that’s useful) but two things I have often heard of as diminishing with old age seem to have missed me: I now sleep more than ever and I love to eat.
Continue reading “Is It November 3rd Yet?”