rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Reset Twenty-One, Day Twenty-Nine

Saturday morning when I went to bed the light leaking around the window shades seemed dimmer than usual. I looked outside and the sky was overcast, not with clouds but with smoke. The wind has shifted a bit and the smoke from the fires is now coming this way. It is mostly staying up high, though, as it doesn't smell too strong on the ground. It remained pretty much the same all afternoon after I got up, and now the moon is orange. The smoke layer didn't do much to diminish the heat, but it seems to be trapping it tonight.

I got my PG&E bill Saturday, and it's the highest I've had since moving here. Not surprising, given how much I've had to use the air conditioner this summer. I expect the next bill will be pretty high too. It won't be cooling off around here anytime soon. It's very tiresome. For now, I get a hot weather bonus of fresh grapes from the vine in the back yard, but those will be gone in a couple of weeks. It's too bad I'm such a crappy gardener, or I could grown some casaba melons back there. I've missed casabas since they vanished from the markets a few years ago.

There was something else, but I've totally forgotten what it was. Dinner? Just grilled cheese, but that wasn't it. Damn, I hate having my brain fried. Didn't much like the grilled cheese, either, but it was better than fried brain. Oh well. I'm going to have some chocolate and see if I can get to sleep before dawn.

Sunday Verse

Reference Back

Philip Larkin

That was a pretty one, I heard you call
From the unsatisfactory hall
To the unsatisfactory room where I
Played record after record, idly,
Wasting my time at home, that you
Looked so much forward to.

Oliver's Riverside Blues, it was. And now
I shall, I suppose, always remember how
The flock of notes those antique Negroes blew
Out of Chicago air into
A huge remembering pre-electric horn
The year after I was born
Three decades later made this sudden bridge
From your unsatisfactory age
To my unsatisfactory prime.

Truly, though our element is time,
We're not suited to the long perspectives
Open at each instant of our lives.
They link us to our losses: worse,
They show us what we have as it once was,
Blindingly undiminished, just as though
By acting differently we could have kept it so.

Riverside Blues, King Oliver and His Creole Jazz Band, 1923:


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