Can’t say exactly why I feel a malaise this beautiful summer afternoon.
I could perhaps blame the Potter child, who I found rather a distraction these last days. I felt some obligation to finish the fifth book in the much heralded series (much hyped?), but found it a bit of a slog. By the end I was fine with the whole thing, but it took rather longer to get there than it might have if J.K. Rowling had a more disciplined editor. A smart person once suggested that one’s decisions about writing should be as ruthless as if one was packing a wagon for the 19th-century trip out west – if you can leave it behind, you must. Rowling could do with a bit of that advice. And she turned that Potter boy into a bit of a twerp. Ah well, he’s 15. No, wait. My Nora’s 15, and she’s not in any way a twerp, at least mostly.
There’s other reasons for not malaise – it really was a lovely weekend.
Mom and Dad came over last night, Lissa cooked a lovely salmon dinner and we lounged until after sunset in the back yard looking at our flowers and watching the birds. And chatting. Nora told stories about her school life and was a delight.
Lissa and I had a nice ride along the river Saturday morning, down the south end of town. And I had a great ride this morning, all fast and furious to test out my legs for next Sunday’s race. Legs passed test. I feel fast and ready.
And there was sugar-free vanilla ice cream. That alone is worth the price of admission.