When all above you looks like this, it is no time for blogging. There is time to walk or feel the cool breeze on your face or read on the screened-in porch or watch kids ripping around outside or staring off into space with a glass of wine in your hand, but sitting with notes and a computer open on your lap just seems - well, wrong. Over at Of Books and Bicycles this week, some similar thoughts popped up in a great post called "On not reading" (from which I stole today's subtitle).
"I’m not sure if any of that makes sense, but I wanted to say something about how sometimes in the evenings when I have plenty of time to read, I put off picking up a book in favor of staring at the wall or surfing aimlessly online. I feel bad sometimes for not using that time better, but, as with many things I feel bad about, there’s no good reason for it."
But I have been writing on (gasp) paper with a (really?) pen this week. Something told me that I should. In the last week or so, met the mothers of two of my friends - one friend I know very well and one I would like to know better. Friends from two different sections of my life. But both their mothers told me a story of their child when he was young and visitors came to their house. What are the odds of that happening? So their experiences have been re-interpreted into a short story that still needs some work, but speaks to the unique in both these people. I hope. You never know.
And I have read and read and read. Have hung with Sherlock Holmes, loitered in the American south, hung on some lesser words of an American humorist, and played voyeur on a DC crime scene. And took in some Bolano poetry. Also decided on the James Grieve translation for In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower. Picking a translation of Proust takes me way longer than it should.
I have been drifting.
Maybe next week I will have a greater blogging sense of purpose.
What have all of you in the Sunday Salon had the pleasure of reading today?