PolarGust of Celeste
Jan. 14th, 2022 08:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ismoI had another night of being awake too long in the wee hours. When it was getting light, the Sparrowhawk got up and persuaded me to go back to bed and take a nap. So I had just time for a cup of tea before our noontime Zoom with Deb and the Prussian. Deb's brother had surgery and is doing all right. His infection is just a common staph, so the antibiotics should be working. We live in hope. Meanwhile, the Sparrowhawk has come down with what seems like a cold. It's not too bad so far--no fever, no chest cough. So maybe it's just a cold . . . But how would one know? Neither of us has been exposed to anyone who had cold symptoms--or to anyone, as far as I can recall. The few times we've been somewhere in the last week, we were masked and didn't stay long. We have one precious test kit left, so at some point in the next day or two, he'll probably use it and test himself. However, a negative swab test doesn't necessarily prove that you don't have the omicron variant. There are no appointments available for a PCR test anywhere in the area for the next four days, and that's as far out as scheduling is available. It's such a catch-22 situation. You must test, but you can't test, because they're not available. And if you do test, you might not know anyway. We'll just stay inside. That's about all we can do.
Tron got a fellowship for next fall! It's the same type of fellowship that the Lumberjack has been working on this past year. I'm so proud of both of them. I was trying to occupy my mind by looking up a quote from C. S. Lewis that Deb mentioned. I couldn't find it as I leafed through his letters, but I was amused because there was something quotable on nearly every page. Here he is making excuses to his father for not having written, a situation in which I used to find myself not infrequently.
" . . . the born letter writer is quite independent of material. Have you ever read the letters of the poet Cowper? He had nothing--literally nothing--to tell anyone about; private life in a sleepy country town where Evangelical distrust of 'the world' denied him even such miserable society as the place would have afforded. And yet one reads a whole volume of his letters with unfailing interest. How his tooth came loose at dinner, how he made a hutch for a tame hare, what he is doing about his cucumbers--all this he makes one follow as if the fate of empires hung on it . . . ."
To which I respond, IT ME! Or at least, it is what I aspire to, and what I imagine many bloggers wish for, now that blogging has taken the place of writing long letters with a quill or fountain pen.
In the next letter, Lewis observes, "I spend all my mornings in the Bodleian . . ." and I swoon with envy.
Tron got a fellowship for next fall! It's the same type of fellowship that the Lumberjack has been working on this past year. I'm so proud of both of them. I was trying to occupy my mind by looking up a quote from C. S. Lewis that Deb mentioned. I couldn't find it as I leafed through his letters, but I was amused because there was something quotable on nearly every page. Here he is making excuses to his father for not having written, a situation in which I used to find myself not infrequently.
" . . . the born letter writer is quite independent of material. Have you ever read the letters of the poet Cowper? He had nothing--literally nothing--to tell anyone about; private life in a sleepy country town where Evangelical distrust of 'the world' denied him even such miserable society as the place would have afforded. And yet one reads a whole volume of his letters with unfailing interest. How his tooth came loose at dinner, how he made a hutch for a tame hare, what he is doing about his cucumbers--all this he makes one follow as if the fate of empires hung on it . . . ."
To which I respond, IT ME! Or at least, it is what I aspire to, and what I imagine many bloggers wish for, now that blogging has taken the place of writing long letters with a quill or fountain pen.
In the next letter, Lewis observes, "I spend all my mornings in the Bodleian . . ." and I swoon with envy.
it'd be a happy surprise
Date: 2022-01-15 08:14 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-01-15 08:07 pm (UTC)