Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Friday, October 10, 2014
Well, I am listening to Mahler. Even I am impressed. I have successfully poopooed him all my 70 years, but I decided that if I am going to be an art music afficionado, I need to broaden my taste. So I ordered a set of all the symphonies minus one. I guess he wrote on stinker in ten. Pretty good batting average, Gustav. And in spite of some rather abrupt volume shifts, I find his music really romantic. If he hadn't written such looooooonnnnnng works, longer than the staying power of the average human bladder, he might actually be popular. Or maybe he is, and I just didn't know it. Nevertheless, here I am, steeped in culture. Other jarring things happened today, too. Big bang not too long ago announce yet another collision on the very busy cross-street to my halcyon little neighborhood. I trooped down to get a gander. Sweet little old lady was being trundled away in the ambulance. Little dear was just planning on some shopping at the market, and out of nowhere, a pickup slammed into her. There are a couple of these dustups a year. I am really careful when turning out of my country lane onto this thoroughfare. It is a war zone. And then, oh, this is the worst. My favorite character on Days of Our Lives got snuffed out. Just like that. No warning, and really, folks, this is just too much. I have been watching faithfully since 1997. I am breaking up with you! No more DVRed episodes to faithfully attend to. Done.
Thursday, October 09, 2014
Monday, October 06, 2014
My favorite blue and white shirt got a hole in it. Not a smallish hole that one could stitch up on the inside with just the faintest pucker to attest to its existence. Oh, nonono. A great honking hole that would showcase my admittedly more evident than usual collar bone. The rest of the shirt is likewise as fragile and thin from multitudeness wearings and washings, a couple of decades of love. What is more appropriate as a blue and white shirt for a trip to the Cafe for a non-fat latte and cinnamon walnut croissant on a Sunday morning? There was a time when I had to be trained to change out of my workaday outfit every night when I came home. Now I live in those comfy, roomy garments that are soft and well-loved. I missed my blue and white shirt. Actually, I still have it, on a special hook in the itsy bitsy closet, where I can adore it on occasion. And, blasphemies of blasphemies, I replace it. My new blue and white shirt is not striped, that would be like buying a puppy just like Boo and hoping for the same dog to show up. No, my new blue and white goto shirt is blue with tiny nosegays of white flowers in between very discreet polka dots. It, too is soft, already, and worthy of having croissant crumbs caught in its cuffs. God bless Anthropologie.