Today’s the Diarists’ Holy Day of Obligation

I knew I had to post today, even if I never posted another entry in this online blog, or in my handwritten journals.  I say this is a holy day because on this day, in 1669, Samuel Pepys, the patron saint of diarists, wrote the final entry in his 9.5-year diary.  He lived 34 years after he stopped keeping a journal–he abandoned it because of a fear (mistaken) that he was going blind.  Most people, analyzing his papers, think that he may have had a very bad astigmatism.

Steph and Susie will be in the Golden State from the 10th of June until the end of that week.  One of Susie’s godmothers is paying for them to go to Disneyland and Hollywood.  I’m a little jealous that I won’t be going, although I much prefer the Bay Area over Southern California–maybe I’m seeing it through the eyes of a non-driver.  This is not sour grapes–I’m looking forward to a week at home alone.  My main goal is to finish the manuscript of a children’s book I’ve been working on without completing.  I keep the handwritten manuscript (written in my 2007 datebook in blue ballpoint pen–the best word processor ever created!) in my knapsack, but haven’t added any words to it yet.  I have, by no means, abandoned the project, though.  Yesterday was the feast day of St. Joan of Arc, and I try to have her attitude: I won’t quit, you’ll have to fire me.  (My choice of music today is in her honor too.)

Monday was a productive day.  Steph and Susie went to Indian Lake for the day (I keep thinking of the song by the Cowsills when I hear about Indian Lake), and I stayed home and typed up nine poems, which I mailed to The Cincinnati Review.   I started seeing a new therapist today, a man out in Upper Arlington.  Too soon to say one way or the other how helpful the therapy will be, but we did seem to hit it off.  I had mailed my paperwork in ahead of time, so he had some time to brace himself for me.  My bus got me to his office early, so while I waited I mailed an essay to Jewish Frontier.  (I was going to go to the post office after the appointment, while I was heading in for work, but I went ahead and used the mailbox in his parking lot.)

I’ve felt kind of draggy lately.  I just could not keep focused for transcribing during the day, so I gave up trying and I typed up lump-sum advancements for the rest of the day, and charged the docket I need to take down in the morning.

Out of the Nowhere, Into the Here

I am touched that I am missed when I don’t post to this blog.  It’s a hot night in late May, and while Steph and Susie are out seeing both Shrek 3 and the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie, I’ve got Led Zeppelin going while I’m typing here.  Monday is Memorial Day, which I probably will mark by sleeping in.  I’m not much into all the flag-waving and the maudlin speeches and observances.  The only thing that made Memorial Day a holiday to remember when I was a kid in Marietta was that it was the one time during the year that the mausoleum in Oak Grove Cemetery was unlocked and opened.  No one I knew or was related to was buried in there, but seeing a place where people were buried in the wall, instead of the ground, was much more fascinating.

Susie breezed through several grueling performances of Bugsy Malone, Jr. at the Davis Center for the Performing Arts.  It closed last Sunday (a week ago tomorrow), and on Wednesday Susie was back down there to audition for Just So Stories, which will debut in August.

I’ve been recovering from some shell shock.  The past three weeks have not been good on the domestic front.  Some stupidity on my part severely shattered shalom bayit around here, and we are shakily returning to normalcy here.  I won’t elaborate or rend my garment any further, except to say that this has not been a past 2-3 weeks I want to relive.

All for now.  Steph and Susie will be in Southern California for a week beginning June 10, so I may be writing more voluminously than ever during that time.

Out of the Nowhere, Into the Here

I am touched that I am missed when I don’t post to this blog.  It’s a hot night in late May, and while Steph and Susie are out seeing both Shrek 3 and the third Pirates of the Caribbean movie, I’ve got Led Zeppelin going while I’m typing here.  Monday is Memorial Day, which I probably will mark by sleeping in.  I’m not much into all the flag-waving and the maudlin speeches and observances.  The only thing that made Memorial Day a holiday to remember when I was a kid in Marietta was that it was the one time during the year that the mausoleum in Oak Grove Cemetery was unlocked and opened.  No one I knew or was related to was buried in there, but seeing a place where people were buried in the wall, instead of the ground, was much more fascinating.

Susie breezed through several grueling performances of Bugsy Malone, Jr. at the Davis Center for the Performing Arts.  It closed last Sunday (a week ago tomorrow), and on Wednesday Susie was back down there to audition for Just So Stories, which will debut in August.

I’ve been recovering from some shell shock.  The past three weeks have not been good on the domestic front.  Some stupidity on my part severely shattered shalom bayit around here, and we are shakily returning to normalcy here.  I won’t elaborate or rend my garment any further, except to say that this has not been a past 2-3 weeks I want to relive.

All for now.  Steph and Susie will be in Southern California for a week beginning June 10, so I may be writing more voluminously than ever during that time.