Stuck in the Middle with You
There's a magpie on the roof opposite. It's wagging its tail at me – which I will take as a sign of encouragement and approval. Starting a blog? Really?
When I begin a new piece of work I always start in pencil, on paper (as I'm doing now.) When I have about seven pages I copy it into the computer. Seven handwritten pages are roughly 2,000 words – which seems to be a critical mass.
That was what I was doing yesterday. And while doing that I found I needed to check out which of the Romantic Poets probably took opium and whether or not Keats' Endymion begins with a dream that fit the notion. It does. And then I found a rather entertaining chat-room by googling the question 'What does opium smoke smell like?'
Apparently the sweet flowery smell is a myth. If that's what you smell while smoking you're certainly smoking incense. And the only way to be absolutely sure your opium is the real deal is to grow your own. Fact-checking can be fun.
I am a tech twit. But my old phone kicked the bucket, and on Saturday I bought a new one. I'm pretty sure that as soon as I get halfway comfortable with it, the warranty will have run out and it will be unsupported by Sony. This is a scam and a rip-off which does not just apply to Sony.
So another chunk of Sunday was spent learning the new configuration. I also learned how to take and attach pictures to texts.
My daughter is absolutely convinced that I'm turning into Lily Tomlin – in her role as Frankie in Grace & Frankie. By coincidence the first photo I took on the new phone was a selfie which, yeah, looked, well, less than the totally rational being I think I am. So I sent it to her, texting, 'Hugs & kisses, Frankie.'
In the old days people told me I looked like Cher.
Oh, and it being Sunday I also did some ironing. I bet Cher and Lily Tomlin don't do their own ironing. Sue Grafton and Ursula Le Guin probably did. I miss them.