Friday, April 19, 2024

     The young poet and I hang out in the morning talking about our lives. Her stories are dynamic, mine are quiet and subdued. She talks about her life now and I talk about memories mostly. There are 62 years difference in our ages.  We are where we should be.

     Outside in the afternoon I hear the drums coming from the high school. I wonder if it the high school band. Part of the day is sunny and the rest overcast.  

     I have started reading MURDER UNDER HER SKIN, a mystery novel by Stephen Spotswood. This week’s New Yorker has a long article, NO TIME TO DIE, the longevity obsession by Dr. Dhruv Khullar.  Reading the article reminded me that it is normal to fade as I age.

     I am getting tired of the on going stories in the two long TV series, UGLY BETTY and THE RESIDENT. These characters have moved into my mind and now it is difficult to decide to discard them.

 

Thursday, April 18, 2024    

     After a week of no naps, Wednesday is a set back, a two nap day. Wake up tired and all I want is more sleep. I overdid it the naps, and last night, sleep escapes me.

     My favorite bread is from Ad Astra.  The bread is sour dough, with a crisp crust, but the name trips me up.  Means ‘to the stars.’ By late morning the bread can be sliced and ready for the freezer. Toasted bread with meted butter is the best.

     I pile plastic bags by the front door waiting for strong visitors to carry them to the bins.

     HOW TO WRITE A MYSTERY, a handbook from Mystery Writers of America, arrives from Amazon. I continue with the mystery story game during a visit with the personal librarian. As expected, she starts to laugh when we consider who is to be murdered, who does it and who is the detective. It is a bit cringy.

 

Wednesday, April 17, 2024

     The stealth ants are winning. Tiny solitaire ants show up on my kitchen counter and in the bathroom.  Sometimes in groups, racing around some time still as if they are dead. I want them to leave my house.  I do kill many of them but still they persist.

     Each morning after eating breakfast and reading the daily New York Times physical paper I open my computer to write. Sometimes I know what I want to say and sometimes not. I am a creature of habits which is helpful as an old person who sometimes gets confused about what to do next.

     My garden is wildly blooming thanks to the care and cultivation of my good friend Deborah.  She is the master gardener.  My neighbor says the garden is beautiful. Thank you Deborah.

     I am slowly catching up with New Yorkers.  For 8 weeks I was unable to read them during chemo treatment but now it is no problem.