Writing and looking at articles. Nice to have access to Duke libraries again!
Cold, clear, and crispy-icy on the ground this morning for the Rosie walk.
She and I play this little game in the bed in the early morning. If I am a little lazy (as I was today), she’ll nudge and kick with her body and her legs. She’ll get up and flop her ears quite loudly. She just is generally annoying, so that it’s not possible to doze a few minutes more. She lies down again and waits for me to stir. I move my legs to the edge of the bed, and get up and lean over her to give her a nice hug and kisses and strokes. We cuddle for a couple of minutes, and then the routine of eyeglasses-fetching-bathrobe-putting-on-bathroom-visiting-dog-fetching-going-outside begins. It’s a reassuring routine for both of us, but I think I would have liked it to begin a little later this morning. We were outside in the dark cold by 6:15, a little later than normal. But it could have been later, given my druthers.
It stayed cold today.
When I settled in for my bedroom coffee, I thought that maybe today would be a good day to make a dump run. We have enough rubbish around for a useful run. I only go when the travel and exertion is worth the effort. And then I realized that today is Sunday, and the dump is closed. And then, with some irritation, I also realized that I really didn’t have a clear idea of time. I didn’t know that it was Sunday, at least not immediately as I sat in our bed sipping coffee. Before the pandemic contortions of time began and before the contortions of time that retirement bring also began, I knew where I stood in time. At least as far as the day-of-the-week was concerned.
This was irritating. Time, in many respect, is something measured and known because it is valuable. Or, I suppose you could also say that because it’s measured, it’s valuable. That’s another debate. It’s probably a debate worth doing in my mind, but today I just felt crabby about having to think about it. As I told my friend Misha when we Zoomed a month or so ago that time is a gift, a treasure. And retirement has given me that gift. I’m too much the Puritan to not abhor the waste of wasted time, and so this is important. Part of the reason, I think, that I decided to do this project in the first place was to keep track. Keep track of time, for one.
And, while sipping my coffee in bed, I failed to keep track, at least in some minor way.
I went out to the garage midday, and it was too cold to stay out there. I retreated to the house and the study. I did write today. I did some pictures on the website (boring task), and I settled in to work on the glamour chapter. It’s been a funny process. I seem to start with the dread that I’m just not making headway–that what I’ve got is too long, too boring, too well settled already in the literature of glamour. I plug along, and then when I read through what I’ve wrought, it seems “pretty good” or at least okay.
I’ve been going through pictures on Pinterest relating to the E-type and “glamour –or what passes for it on social media. Mainly it’s beautiful women or scantily clad women in some relation to a car. The magnetism of the E-type and some ladies is rather mysterious, I have to admit, and I think that the attraction comes from the car, weirdly enough. The ladies associate themselves with the car for its glamorous vibes. At least that seems to be the case in many of the pictures.
I have to admit that it hasn’t been onerous research.
Photography has been makeshift and haphazard today. The experience of today hasn’t been, shall we say, photogenic–aside from the ladies and the cars. I collected at the edges. It was a good day for eggs, and the eggs were very clean. That happens when you pick them more frequently, I guess because the hens don’t jostle them around or have as many opportunities to poop on them. We have an abundance of eggs, and I am hoping we can shuffle many off to the family. I’ve got the egg cartons in the pantry, and we’ll just load ‘em up.
Really nice to see the hens decide to be productive because daylight is getting longer.
Deer in the evening are again at the edge of the field out back. They seemed aware that I was walking out to the garage. Heads up, attentive, even though I was hundreds of feet away.
Looking back on the day, I’d say it was an aimless one. Nothing seemed to attach to my interests, and my writing felt a bit more mechanically forced than usual. Too cold to do anything productive in the garage, I bounced around. The pictures show it in their subjects and their number.
Tomorrow will be better.