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| Oak Glen, 11/13/13 |
For a long time, I’ve been noticing how impersonal this blog
has become over the months and years. There is something in me reluctant to
post personal news, photos, birthdays observed, holiday greetings, and so on.
The closest I’ve come lately to articulating an opinion about anything but
western fiction and movies was a carefully worded “rant” on misuse of the term “political correctness.”
Reading and enjoying blogger Chris LaTray’s weekly
one-sentence journal got me thinking I should do something to break out of the
self-imposed silence a bit. So after more than a one-week trial, I’m posting a
one-sentence journal installment of my own. Now that I’ve started, we’ll see
how it goes.
11/5, Tuesday. A
sliver of moon hangs over San Jacinto in the evening sky, the air so clear you
can also see the dark side of the moon, while the Valley below becomes a carpet
of lights.
11/6, Wednesday. The
day starts at 5:20, dawn light silhouetting the ridge of hills against the
northeastern sky as I step outside the garage door, the cool air stirring the
branches of the palo verdes.
11/7, Thursday. Making
final changes to draft 5 of the book with an old tape of Pat Metheny and Spyro
Gyra on the stereo.
11/8, Friday. Awake
at 4:45 a.m. with the dogs next door yapping and my dog wanting out to scold
them until they run back indoors, and I’m standing there in the patio—Orion
sailing serenely overhead.
11/9, Saturday. These
days have been that brief perfect season in the desert when neither air
conditioning nor the furnace is needed to keep the indoor temperature just
right, and you can leave the doors and windows open all day.
11/10, Sunday. More
than three years ago it began to dawn on me that blogging was turning into a
book, and this morning, as the sun was coming up, a draft of the MS for that
book finally went to an editor who wants to read it.
11/11, Monday. Veterans
Day: after the usual search, I find our big flag neatly folded in the top
drawer of the buffet—where it’s supposed to be—and hang it on the side of the
house facing the street.
11/12, Tuesday. As
usual, I awake with a song running through my head, this morning’s selection
“You’re Nobody Till Somebody Loves You,” and I’m wondering, “Now what’s that
about?”
11/13, Wednesday. A
golden autumn day at the vintage apple orchards in Oak Glen, walking the
footpaths in the fallen leaves and dodging around excited groups of
well-behaved school children.
11/14, Thursday. Enough
of political chicanery, school shootings, and typhoons; I’m giving myself a
vacation from the nightly news shows.
11/15, Friday. Each evening as the sun sets, Venus
is a super-bright spot of light, high over San Jacinto in the southwestern sky.
11/16, Saturday. Time (disturbingly) flies
Photo credit: (c) Ron
Scheer
Coming up: Race in early frontier fiction
A vacation from news shows. I hear you.
ReplyDeleteRon, it's good to hear that the manuscript of your book has gone to the editor. Good luck to you.
ReplyDeleteAwesome, Ron. 11/09 sounds glorious to me.
ReplyDelete