I strategized with scottm for the recording that I hope to do in a few weeks of electric football fields, while my old friend Gene and I discussed whether he and I might spend part of his vacation together (I will hear soon, Scott, so that we may schedule our stuff; btw, Saturday evening put me in an enormously good mood--so you guys are probably going to get declared controlled substances by the GWB people). This long weekend featured not one but three social events with friends, which is roughly two more than my usual tolerance, and yet I am really pleased we socialized with each set of folks.
Oh, but the missed opportunities! I got to see a good bit of one of my favorite film performances, Tom Courtenay's role in The Dresser, including the wonderful "train" scene, but did not have the energy to finish the whole film. Natalie Merchant was in town Wednesday with Chris Isaak, and we were just too tired to go. I slept until noon on Saturday, except for a few moments up to have raisin bran and read the paper. I loathe sleeping in on a weekend day--it's like taking the hourglass and stealing the sand.
But life happens all around me. As I changed bird feeders out, putting in an "easy for birds" feeder with "everybird loves 'em" seeds, I noticed that the feeder I had hanging with saffron seeds (which attract only "posh" birds), which seemed to never attract birds, actually was nearly empty of seed. The problem was not the feeder, but the watcher. Sometimes my endeavors fail (see, e.g., the terrarium I still haven't revived since the "marigold disaster" this Spring), but how often is it just a matter of inattention? Those darn doorways of perception. It's all well and good to talk about 'em when you're Aldous Huxley, stoned all the time and hanging out at the Vedanta Temple in Hollywood...but what about when you're middle aged and straight-edged in the Texas suburbs, and pretty much just like staring at white clouds?