Saturday, August 15, 2015

Saturday Morning


I passed this bush on the way to my walk on Friday.
The colour is stunning, so I got closer and took another shot.

My elementary school report cards are full of comments about my sensitivity. My extreme response to stimuli was a problem for the teacher and the class. And, I imagine, for my parents. I would never get out of the car on the ferries because the whistle was too loud. I now see my reaction to the building construction around me as a mistake, an over-reaction.
After my last trip  (to South Africa, Namibia, Botswana), I renounced travel. And after my last play, I renounced writing except for re-writes to Uncle Gus’ Monkey if it goes into production. And watching TV or reading makes me fall asleep, so I have been pondering how I am going to get through winter.

The challenge has been to find a project that does not involve writing. I have this feeling I am going to decorate chairs.

I made a list of unfulfilled promises. As I walked the wall on Friday I recalled the names of several people with whom I have joyously shared a desire to get together for a meal, a walk or a ride but with whom, I have never followed up. Last week, every day, I was with one such person and I will do the same next week. That means, the week after next I will want for nothing, owe nothing and I will have nothing undone.

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