Neighbor Ed was lamenting the death of the great Jerry Stiller. “A fellow alum!” he said.
“What? Jerry Stiller went to the University of Wisconsin?”
“No-o-o-! Seward Park High School!”
“Wait!” I said. “You went to Seward Park High School?”
“Yes!” said Ed.
“Did you happen to know Alfred Vogel?” I asked.
“My favorite English teacher!” said Ed.
“My grandfather,” I said.
Ed’s eyes opened very wide. “Whoa,” he said. “That’s like discovering we’re relatives.”
"It's all relative," I said.
Sunny, bright, and still 20 degrees below the temps that pass for seasonal in these parts. Temps sank below freezing again last night, but the air is crystalline.
Rather stupidly, I’d replanted my tomatoes and peppers yesterday. I wonder if they survived the night?
I’m out of stuff to read, so I decided to reread The Stand. All pandemic, all the time! Stephen King really is the 20th century Dickens with all Dickens’s weaknesses and all Dickens’s strengths save for Dickens’s talent at coming up with perfect character names.
You never understand the extent to which you define yourself by future plans until you’re stranded in an indeterminate present tense, I suppose.
Isn’t that supposed to be some sort of meditation goal? Be here now! Only the sound balloon is coming out of Big Brother’s mouth instead of Baba Ram Dass’s.
I don’t much like it, but on bright sunny days like this one, I am more resigned to it.
And anyway, it doesn’t much matter what I like.
Cross-posted from Dreamwidth