For me, one of the indications that warm weather will be here awhile is when the yard sale and garage sale signs begin appearing on trees, telephone poles, and yard signs around the neighborhood. The Olde North and Clintonville neighborhoods have begun sprouting them, and, now that it’s easier for me to bring home my purchases (my trike has a large basket in the back), I’ve begun noting when and where these sales are happening, and planning my weekends (especially payday weekends) around them.
For those of you who conscientiously follow my blog (kind of like Fritz the Nite Owl’s “14 viewers out there in the darkness,” you know May 31 is kind of a holy day of obligation for me. On this day in 1669, Samuel Pepys wrote the final entry in the diary he began New Year’s Day 1660. According to my computer clock, it is almost four hours into May 31. Since it is impossible for me to sleep right now, I’m here at the keyboard blogging.
|Pepys’ diary, describing the Great Fire of London in September 1666.
The temperature right now is 72 degrees Fahrenheit, the coolest it’s been in the past 36 hours or so. The current relative humidity is 84%, and the air conditioner is not working right now. That’s one of the reasons I’m not sleeping right now.
Another is that I napped for much of the afternoon. Susie and I share a Sprint 4G wireless card (much more cost-effective than a cable router), and in the afternoon, she came home from the playground vowing not to go out again the rest of the day, because of the heat. So, while she was online, I went up to my bedroom and stretched out on the bed to read. The next thing I knew, it was late afternoon, and Susie was knocking on the door to announce she had just made a pot of spaghetti. (I was not going to ask her to, because of the heat.)
Possibly the fact that I drank about half of a two-liter bottle of Diet Pepsi tonight may have something to do with my current wakefulness. That is doubtful, and I don’t say that facetiously. My caffeine consumption is so heavy that I’ve built up quite a bit of tolerance to its effects.
So, that is why I’m sitting here in the front room in my shorts, with the laptop screen lit before me, my two fingers tappety-tapping across the keyboard, and the Alan Parsons Project’s “You Don’t Believe” sounding from my speakers. (I am keeping the volume low, since Susie has taken over the master bedroom, directly above this room.)
Today was a good day to make only occasional visits to Facebook and the ‘Net anyway. Most (but not all) recycled the same Memorial Day pictures and treacle ad nauseam. (John Fugelsang was correct when he posted, “The best way to honor veterans is to stop creating new ones.”) Plus, many people are up in arms about Jim Tressel’s resignation as Ohio State’s head football coach. I was told to “GO TO HELL!!” by one Marietta High School classmate because I wondered if Tressel needed to resign so he could write another book about integrity and faith in God to live one’s life. (Even the most die-hard fan has to get a chuckle out of the title of Tressel’s book Life Promises for Success: Promises from God on Achieving Your Best.)
Later in the evening, I felt that I had to remind my Facebook friends that Monday was the day Jim Tressel resigned. The calendar does not say December 7, 1941; it does not say November 22, 1963; it most certainly does not say September 11, 2001.
And how do I feel about Tressel’s resignation? I remember a December 1986 editorial in The New Republic about the Iran-Contra scandal, when it looked like bad times were ahead for the Reagan Administration. The author of “TRB in Washington” summed up my feelings about Reagan, and I echo them now regarding Jim Tressel:
I managed just one walk tonight, and it was more out of necessity than a desire to exercise. I walked to the Giant Eagle on Neil Avenue (about 1.7 miles) just before dark. There is a Kroger less than 10 minutes away (on foot), but it is becoming a ghost town. The new store, on the same site, is close to completion, and so, as they run out of items, nobody is restocking the shelves. It’s been known as Kro-ghetto for quite some time in the neighborhood, and a friend of mine has been mugged at least twice in the parking lot. So, apparently the solution is to let everything run out, and then close the store at the end of this week, and reopen it in the new building come July. The new building is starting to look like something finally, and the current building will be razed so they’ll have more parking space.
I just question the wisdom of building a high-end store (with a butcher shop, fresh fish area, delicatessen, wine section, etc.) in this neighborhood. Who patronizes this Kroger currently? Mostly students, people on food stamps, pensioners, and immigrants who come to this Kroger because it’s within walking distance of campus, Weinland Park, and Harrison West. Many of these folks aren’t all that rich. (I use my Kroger Plus card with each visit, but that’s often a waste, because I accumulate beaucoup fuel perks, but, being a non-driver, I have no occasion to redeem them.)
It’s now about an hour from sunrise. I walk Susie to the bus stop at 6:30 (a guarantee that the bully I mentioned in a previous entry leaves her alone), which means I set my alarm for 6. I’m not really tired, although I’m sure I expended some energy here at the keyboard. Wondering if lying down, even for a little while, is a waste.