Clouds and sun. Cool. Many birds singing a variety of tunes with great enthusiasm. Meadowlarks and suchlike.
We spent a studious weekend. Brian practiced his drawings depicting Lieutenant Yar at the moment of her death (represented by the black smudge on her cheek). It's been, what, 15 years? and he still grieves. I just don't think he'll ever get over it.
I studied and read. Read and studied. Occult symbols. Myths. Poetics. Anthills. Abandoned goose nests. Plaid skywriting.
Engaged in reassuring telephone conversations with friends and relatives. Reassuring because they demonstrated that I can indeed still converse. And because I love hearing their voices and knowing they're out in the world being who they are.
We're about to leave to mail away more books. I wonder whether I ought to mail this army pamphlet on homemade incendiaries to this weird name in the Netherlands... I suppose I should have thrown it away (it came to me in a bag of old magazines my elderly neighbor brought me years ago), but there were already 75 copies for sale online when I checked. So I don't know.
Having a Cagney fest these evenings here. Watched Strawberry Blonde last night (the one where he plays a hapless turn-of-the-century dentist who keeps saying "That's just the kind of a hairpin I am"), and tonight we'll watch Boy Meets Girl (where he plays half of a wacky screenwriting team). Starting gentle. Working my way up to White Heat--"Top of the world, Ma."
I love Jimmy Cagney and I don't care who knows it. That's just the kind of a hairpin I am.
1:43:07 PM 
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