Wednesday

After breakfast and a quick clothes wash 'n' dry, I took my cart to the Hill Street library branch. For a pleasant forty-five or so, I sat and read Salman Rushdie's book of essays, Languages of Truth, then took it out. If he isn't rated in the top echelon of writers, nobody else deserves a place there, either. 

Walked there and home, so I got three miles in. Good, because I knew I'd be sitting in rehearsal later. Speaking of: Paula texted me to the effect she was going to "isolate for a few days" and should be back by "hopefully Saturday." I assume she decided to do this because her husband developed COVID. She also asked if I've heard any "scuttlebutt" about her and that she's "puzzled about a few things." I have an idea of what's brewing here, but won't go into detail.

To get to rehearsal, I took the 6 bus to the transit center, then the 11 to Market Street and walked the mile or so left to go. Rehearsal went very well and I actually got a hand from the rest of the cast. Ken took me home; it isn't very far out of his way. 

Called Jim and invited him for lunch on Friday. I asked him to come at noon instead of his usual 12:30, as I have rehearsal at 6:30. We chatted and caught up with each other's doings.  Since Jim teaches philosophy, I decided to add the philosophical note following:  

Got an email from SO-FI Apartments to all residents, saying there was some kind of screw-up with automatic rent payments and would we bring a paper check over. What in hell is wrong with this outfit? And also, what in the name of all that's--well, in this case, unholy--wrong with all these big companies? I had that long travail with SO-FI about my non-existent failure to pay various charges, plus the crapola, finally resolved, I hope, with Chase about my mortgage and property insurance--I'm beginning to think the empire is crumbling. Yeats had it right: "...Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold/Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world...The best lack all conviction, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity...." As for the rough beast slouching toward Bethlehem, who knows what that could be--the anti-Christ? But it's coming ever closer, I believe. 

On a much cheerier topic: Here's the gang Monday evening at dinner:

It's hard to believe, judging from the picture, but Greg actually was his usual pleasant self--exactly like my late husband, he simply doesn't smile for photos. (But in the one I ran yesterday, he did--only because I mentioned it!)