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Wednesday 23 November 2005

My 56th birthday; calloo, callay, o frabjous day. Left arm hurting worse than usual today — silly anti-inflammatories now going on two weeks are doing not a whit of good for it — and my right thigh still somewhat raw, although much better now: walking in the house is no longer painful, and even my longish walks with Luna only occasionally remind me of discomfort.

I thought I'd walk to Burdine, which would have been about 8 miles round-trip: at 10-ish this morning the sky was a beauti­ful blue, and I was within 3 minutes out the door — but Susan called, wanted to chat; by the time we were off the phone, the weather had soured to overcast then snow: flurries then quite serious, even sticking, if for not very long and not sticking more than maybe an hour and a half. Still, Susan rescued me from a dreary cold walk in the snow to Burdine. On the other hand, staying indoors typing two days in a row is hardly a way to get to know the area. Still, no harm done and one more day to let the thighs heal. I did laundry; I made myself a sort of birthday lunch: baked sweet potato, carrots with mushrooms and onions in cream (looked very nasty, a wretched grey sludge with things floating in it, but tasted good), and two small strips of steak on toast with mustard butter: a fair amount of food, resisted the ice cream in the freezer — still haven't opened it since I've been here — as well as coffee with more cream, enough cream is enough. . . .

[image ALT: A rumpled bed with a small cat and a large cat lounging on it, and a dog sitting up alertly toward the pillows.]

This is a photograph of me making up the bed.

And spent most of the day inputting The History of Jenkins, Kentucky, which is in many ways an extraordinarily good book for its unvarnished un-self‑conscious matter-of‑factness, giving an excellent window into life in pioneer America. Before I came here, I never thought that as late as 1915 anywhere in the east of this big wonder­ful country could be considered pioneering — mentally reserving that for the Far West — but in Jenkins at least, it undoubtedly was: this has been a real learning experience.

Yammer with James punctually at 7 (6 his time) and more poking about Susan's books, finding several to keep me entertained either as light reading for bedtime now, or more seriously for the next few days: one of them I'm even considering putting onsite. . . .

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