An inquisitive old fart with a camera
A friend’s country place includes a octagonal building with a removable center piece which conceals a fire pit. Apparently they – whoever they are – held retreats there.
The last three chairs of six and coffee table I bought used a couple years ago needed to go somewhere to free up space for our Christmas day party.
Appearance aside, it thoughtfully offers shade to bus-waiters.
Hot sun today, just like yesterday.
OK. I’ll admit it. In kindergarten my report card said, ‘Plays well with others, especially his imaginary friends.’
We have finally taken possession of a narrow strip of farmland (5.6 hectares, 13.837901 acres) about ten kilometers inland. Most remarkable about the house is that the couple who raised their family in for twenty years or so never got around to installing running water.
The hand-dug well is only about 20 meters from the back door for your flushing convenience. I think there was a basin, since removed.
The bathroom opening (no door) lies behind this brick curtain wall, which became a pile of rubble today in less than an hour.
To the credit of the sellers – who now live a kilometer down the road in a new house with running water and a fireplace (this one had no heat source other than a wood kitchen stove in the little closet of a kitchen) – the place was clean: not a bit of crap in the house whatsoever. A few bits in that rustic (and rusty) galpon (barn), whose side sheathing consists of the sides of metal barrels that have been straightened.
From one of a collection of notebooks lying around, which my wife wants to give our son, in hopes that somehow he’ll take notes [pay attention] and become organized or learn something, she gives me the sole used half page, from months ago.
Relaxing with the present moment, relaxing with hopelessness, relaxing with death, not resenting the fact that things end, that things pass, that things have no lasting substance, that everything is changing all the time – that is the basic message.
My goodness. When did I write that? Alas, I didn’t, not originally.
Last handwritten line: When Things Fall Apart, page 47.
As I walk toward the beach, a fisherman approaches, on a red scooter, long surf-casting poles under his arm.
It makes me uneasy for a moment.
The scooter passes uneventfully.
note to self: next time, take camera
In class, I heard an announcement of a meeting tomorrow at 37:15. Someone said that in Buenos Aires the clock reset weekly instead of daily. So today was Monday, and the meeting tomorrow was at 1:15 PM.
I know the Argentinian government is nutty, but even in a dream this seemed a little overboard.
But we’re on our way to Rosario, so we’ll find out when we arrive in Argentina tomorrow.
At about 129 o’clock.
Today:
Caught up on three months’ worth of accounting.
Got curious about Javascript (why?) and from scratch learned enough to solve (with help!) the FizzBuzz challenge.
if( i %3 === 0 && i %5===0){
console.log(“FizzBuzz”)
}
Oh yeah, I know you’re awed 😉
Listened to the second learning Morse Code podcast (almost through the easiest third of the alphabet woohoo).
Replied to months-old email from the high school teacher who introduced me to the formative work of summer camp counseling.
Thought about mowing the grass. Nah.
Walked the dogs.