Time marches on . . .
12/8, Sunday. Stormy weather, cold wind and clouds rolling over the mountains from the coast, with snow in the high elevations but dry here on the ground—living in a rain shadow.
12/9, Monday. Department of Where Has the Time Flown: Watching Johnny Mathis sing a Christmas song on The View this morning and remembering a concert in Chicago in 1961 when we were both in our 20s.
12/10, Tuesday. With the rest of the country and Canada in a deep freeze, it seems hardly right to complain about 38 degrees outside this morning, so I won’t.
12/11, Wednesday. Starting into chapter 1 of a western in German that begins: “Als Jim Whittaker über den Pass kommt, kann er das lange Tal unter sich bald immer besser übersehen.”
12/12, Thursday. A strip of half-inch weather stripping has finally found its way to the top of a door at the back of the house, and I’m waiting for the next cold snap to see if the room feels any warmer.
12/13, Friday. Edgar Allen Poe notwithstanding, the ravens here in the desert always sound to me like they’re laughing to themselves about something—and just like it’s gallows humor.
12/14, Saturday. Community Service Department: On walks in the desert, I’ve stopped picking up other people’s trash.
Image credits: Ron Scheer
Coming up: Alfred Wallon, Showdown in Abilene