Facing the Week

An acquaintance came for a walk around the lake and a visit.  I discover that what my teacher Mme. Colette said so many years ago is true:  apparent signs to the contrary, I am really rather an introvert.  I appreciate someone else reaching out, and at the same time, feel somewhat shy.  This does not stop me, however, from finding the other person interesting.


Home, I discover that Bracha the cat, who is skinnier every day, still firmly believes that her place at mealtime is upon the table requesting tastes of whatever I am eating.  This evening she politely insisted on sampling my crustless spanakopita.

She liked it; and we'll see what the morning brings.



The sense of disorientation that followed Zalman's death had diminished greatly---and has reasserted itself after the election.  I have indefinitely postponed a concert I was to have given ten days ago, and have yet to resume the perusal and editing of the early writing.  Everything has taken a back seat to the signing of petitions, the writing of letters, the calling of congressmen, the donating of money.  Reading the news, incredulous.

It can't go on this way; I'll go nuts.

So I signed up to receive some other savvy person's evaluation of the most important things to be done each day, and will try to make it stick.  

There is something to be said for living to protest another day.