high winds

As if watching out for the rain and the freezing cold were not enough, it seems I also must be wary of high winds.

At around three, I awoke to the startling sound of a howling wind. There was some mention of a very light rain, and I was wondering if maybe that was upgraded. No, there is just that somewhat scary wind. I would have let the cats inside, except none were on the patio, having apparently sought a more secure refuge elsewhere.

At first I tried to go back to sleep. After all, it wasn't storming. But I should've known that wasn't gong to work. I get ready to do some reading and to keep an eye out for the cats. Then I see Sammy running to the patio crying. He eagerly comes inside.

Sammy would be my only catch, though, and I wound up letting him go back outside at around four, and I had a little better luck going back to sleep, salvaging a little of the night.

the wooden gate

Busy morning. By my standards.

Besides taking care of the recycling, I tied up the wooden gate that is just outside my bedroom with fresh trash bags. Remember, I originally tied it down because it would bang with its slackness with the wind, making for a continuous knocking sound and ruining my sleep. With last night’s violent winds, the knocking noise returned.

If my memory is not playing tricks with me, I tied it down when Mother was still here, over ten years ago. It is amazing that it held this long. May it hold so long again.

February 6, 1991

Mother took me and Jack on base to play tennis. It was a moderately sunny and comfortable day.

===============

February 24, 2012

Finally, a hint of the kind of entry that I would like to find in my Old Journal. But only a hint. Too bad I wasn’t inspired to include a couple of details. It would be nice to have more of this wholesome brotherliness on the record, but I guess I just took it for granted.

There is more, but it is of that nauseatingly simplistic introspection I seemed to be painfully engaged in at this time. I remark about how thoughts and images of the past come to mind during this exercise, though I don’t tell of what, and I apparently felt some pride in having this richer sensibility. I also remark about my self-consciousness as “a small, ugly monkey which can be only derided by beautiful women.”

This is what I mean about this period of my diary. I seem to be just beginning to get oriented in the basic facts of life. Of course, most of the diary is mucky like this in one fashion or another, but this is especially disappointing and grating. There is just so damn little there. I wish I got into stupid blank verse instead.

Jack and I whack the tennis ball and mostly
chase after it like happy pets,
playing at elegant sports like Down’s syndrome children,
like clowns on parade,
and I’m a boy that will never become a man.

That would have been worlds better.

the yard work

I'm on a roll on trying to get the yard work up to snuff. I cut my afternoon reading session short, again. It is a shower night and I had all the cats inside, and I wanted to put in a thorough mowing. However, I was on my last ounces of gasloline for the mower. Since I was dressed and rearing to go, I went with what gas I had, attacking the worst areas first, and I was able to get about 90% of that done. So, it looks decent, if you can overcome your aversion to the fact that 95% of the back is weeds, as is a growing portion of the front yard. I'm pleased with myself for being so good about putting my shoulder to the wheel. I wonder how much of it has to do with the Amazon Kindle Fire and Prime membership.

Political Language

“Political language—and with variations this is true of all political parties, from Conservatives to Anarchists—is designed to make lies sound truthful and murder respectable, and to give an appearance of solidity to pure wind."

-- George Orwell