Robert (gurdonark) wrote,

the storm before the lull

Sometimes I think it is the day before a holiday day which is the real holiday. One gets work done, has meetings, thinks great thoughts, and feels relief, all knowing a day off is just ahead. Even the bliss of the day off work is not equal to the bliss of the day before the day off work. The sound of the tea pot whistle always tastes better than the tea.

We have our third day of rainy weather. Apparently, central and south Texas are in deluge. In north Texas, we're just in pleasant overcast skies. It's as though I fell asleep and awoke in a particularly pleasant San Francisco rainy Spring day, in an El Nino year. Tomorrow is to be warmer again, but I'd rather savor this weather than think about tomorrow.

My favorite "overlooked" lake, Lake Ray Roberts,
was featured in the local newspaper as "the local great overlooked lake". It has great hiking and biking trails, natural woodlands, the zebra longwing butterfly (found essentially in a little strip of Texas and in Florida--I don't know why such a distribution), and a really uncrowded ambience. When I see an article "discovering" it,
I feel at once that warm glow that I was already in the 'know' (I am a bit silly) and the fear that now everyone will know. I'm not sure people read the paper, though--that's my last best hope for peace.

I notice that I read the birthdays section of the newspaper far too often. Who really cares how old celebrities are? I suppose I must, or I wouldn't read it. It's funny, the three reactions--"I thought he died years ago, but he's only 70", "I never realized we were essentially contemporaries--I've been a fan for ages", and
"oh my goodness, I could have been her father!".
Note to self: acquire weighty looking tome to accompany raisin bran.

I started a novel by old Baja hand Harry Crosby.
As near I can from the first fifty pages make out, it's a first person narrative about a February-December relationship, only February is a charming paid companion. Everything is of course bathed in foreign travel and witty, meaningful conversation. Nobody ever stops by the convenience store for a "hit" of beef jerky, or hankers for a quarter pounder with cheese or discusses John Grisham novels.

The "duality" of the love story v. the mercantile transaction seems to be the theme. Some days I wake up and wonder if life is too short for reading silly novels. It's engagingly written, but I have to wonder if another book, say Scorpions of Baja, might not have been a more profitable pursuit. I'll finish it, though, I suppose.

I need to put batteries back in that shortwave radio, whose batteries I "robbed" for some other appliance. Then maybe I can go to Copenhagen
or my mind. But I'll refrain from mercantile transactions, if I can.
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