Send more grapes
Please, Ottawa: leave my CBC Radio alone. From where I sit, the variety fills that quiet space in my life. News, culture, so much more. New music! I’m listening to a cellist, Cris Derksen, in the living space of my life, and I’m content. Don’t mess with my content, OK?
The advice for mower mechanics continues to pour in; I should try some more chemicals before grinding that recalcitrant screwhead into dust. I will, but my timeline is pretty much a flatline, right now. Keep the grass from growing while I ponder.
Trying to keep track of what the family is doing (meaning the extended family) via FB is a study in frustration. Learning that someone else has had “very bad news” doesn’t clarify. I had to wait to learn that the latest bump on life’s highway involved the death of someone who attended the same high school (I think). It could have been so much worse (in personal terms), but there’s no inflection in a wall post. And the steady stream of commiseration from others requires a little more colour, thank you very much.
Meanwhile, the country is split between losses in hockey and awe at how the POTUS performs when away from home. No war declared, yet (hockey is so divisive). I’m going to get back to reading and chewing on a plate of grapes. I know, hardly the response required to world problems, but I’m retired AND living in the country. Please forgive me. And send more grapes; stocks are running low here.
