I can’t even draw a passable stick figure, let alone a straight line or a human face. But my life is far richer because I’ve learned to appreciate the art that others create, through painting or photography.
Today is the last day with more than 12 hours of daylight until next March. Enjoy it while it lasts.
A lot of what I write comes pretty close to the borderline between fiction and non-fiction. Sometimes that borderline is clear; sometimes it isn’t. And sometimes I care whether I am crossing over that borderline, but sometimes I don’t.
I’m running an epigram factory. The failure rate is high. It comes with the territory.
Over the weekend, my car crossed the 100,000 km threshold. Immediately, I felt older and a bit sadder, and even started to drive a bit slower–a strange sort of numerical anthropomorphism!
The lively little tune my hernia plays for me most mornings–the Stinging Shepherd Blues!
Instead of my usual Baroque or early classical music, played a CD of “Sentimental Piano Music” at breakfast today–popular songs from the 1950’s and “60s such as “Twilight Time” and “Moon River.” It went down very well with the pancakes and coffee. The experience shows that it isn’t necessarily classical music I crave in the morning, but music that’s soft, gentle, and unobtrusive. Nice to see I can broaden my repertoire a bit.
If I feel just ho-hum about a piece I’m working on, it’s a sign that I should be working on something else. I’ll put it aside until a more opportune time. If a writing project is going to work, I need to feel a real hunger to tackle it, a hunger that will mobilize my best and greatest energies. Ho-hum energy leads to days when I write six lines, five of which I will ultimately delete.
I consider myself extremely fortunate, at this stage of my retirement, to be able to devote myself almost entirely to the arts: writing, theatre, and music in particular. My devotion may be imperfect, and during the time of pandemic, seriously incomplete, but that doesn’t mean the arts are any less important to me. I have a purpose in life, something larger than myself to get up to every day. At my time of life, that is extremely important.
This morning, for the first time in my life, I “enjoyed” oatmeal without sugar on it. The miracle isn’t that I didn’t find the cereal particularly tasty; it’s that I got the entire big bowl down. In future, those bowls will be a good deal smaller.