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February 3, 1998
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The spring-like warm spell continues. I didn't even wear a jacket when I went out this morning. The temperature is in the 50's and the air has that mild, moist feel to it. When I walked this afternoon with Joan-east and Priscilla, we found pussy willows out already. But both my therapist and Tom told me we're going to get socked tomorrow with a storm of Blizzard of '78 proportions. Neither is a meteorologist. My therapist is, well, a therapist (though she did used to be a stockbroker). Tom is poet and an English teacher. Dunno what meteorological credentials that gives them, and they must be watching a different TV weatherman than I am. Even after discovering the pussy willows with Joan-east and Priscilla, I had this uneasy feeling that I was supposed to be stocking up on white bread and batteries in anticipation of being snowed in for a week or so. I really haven't had the stocking up urge much this winter because the significant snow storms have all been on short notice -not enough time to panic and head to the grocery store. After my walk, I was unusually tired, which attribute partly to ongoing sleep troubles and partly to the changeover from Daypro to Lodine for the arthritis. It took awhile to build up enough of the effects from Lodine in my system to be anything like close to able to keep up with the walking buddies without pissing off my knee so I missed a few walks and got a little out of shape. Anyway, I was too tired to drive out to the beach or anything to make use of the remaining couple of hours of light. After I rested, I felt more like doing something so indulged in a shopping binge - no not the traditional white bread and batteries in preparation for a blizzard - a couple pairs of chinos, two shirts, and two books: Looking for the Lost by Alan Booth who wrote The Roads to Sata, one of my favorites in my collection of gaijin views of Japan, and The Crystal Desert by David Campbell for my ever growing collection of unread books about Antarctica. Nothing unusual here except that at the exact moment I was browsing Looking for the Lost at Waterstones in Burlington, Nancy was browsing The Roads to Sata, at College Hill Bookstore in Providence and wondering if I knew about Alan Booth. Too bad I don't believe in synchronicity or whatever that newage word for coincidence is. | |
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