Brava to the Canadian women’s soccer team and all the others battling Japanese heat!
Summer is whipping by. Time makes no sense any more. It’s August?! I never know what day it is. But things are good. I’ve an appointment in two weeks for a CT scan; then we’ll know what needs to be done.
Second, of vital importance: I at last, laboriously, cleaned off my desk. It was snowed under with papers and files and clippings and magazines – New Yorkers I need to keep for one reason or another. But now – pristine. Now I need to sit here and do something. As in – write something.
Look at that long empty expanse. Terrifying. Quick, some comforting clutter!
In the meantime, I sent another essay to an American online magazine. So now 3 essays are circulating, awaiting the inevitable no. At least, I hope they at least say no, and don’t just ignore the work completely the way many places do. This part of being a writer, figuring out where a piece should go and submitting and waiting waiting waiting, then probably sending out again — this is not fun.
But my desk is clear. That’s fun.
Have been watching a doc about Obama. He’s like a mirage, an intelligent, gentle, sensitive, thoughtful, highly educated American president. Watching him at the funeral of the pastor murdered by white supremacist Dylann Roof, in a church filled with African-Americans, begin to sing “Amazing Grace” – watching everyone stand up and join in, hands in the air – so deeply right, so wise and brave. As someone said, He represents the best of America.
Followed, incomprehensibly, by the absolute worst. Still out there, in all his greedy, vulgar, racist, vile malevolence.
City Life: Last night, in the heat, a group of young neighbours returned at 1 a.m. and stood in the street exclaiming happily at top volume to each other. Who does that in the middle of the night? At about 3, I heard what were unmistakably gunshots. At 7, below my bedroom window, my neighbour’s daughter was picked up by a very noisy woman chatting at top volume.
On Sunday, I’m going to Ruth’s cottage for a few days. It will be good to get out of summer in the city, even this city that I love. Robin will be here, watering and guarding.
A message that resonated with me:
And this one too, from the Toronto Star. I don’t know who those people are who share my birthday. I know Momoa is a big hairy man, but Tempest Bledsoe?! But otherwise, it’s not wrong.