Lugnasa Superior Wolf Moon
Ruth came up to the loft yesterday, sat in the leather chair and we talked while I worked. She’s such a sweet kid and very curious. Very bright. We talked about painted elephants, Hokusai and his famous print of the wave. Taking out a large book I have of Hokusai’s work, we paged through it and I explained the floating world of late 19th century Japan.
When I used chopsticks to eat beans and wieners for lunch, she said, “You’re weird, Grandpop.” I said, “Thanks. I take that as a compliment. Don’t you?” She nodded shyly.
Right now I’m trying to tell the story of the primordial Greek gods and the wars that occurred among the gods that followed them, the Titans and the Olympians. Tough to do without getting didactic, deadly to the flow of the narrative. Realized last night that I just have to get it down right now. This is a rough draft, not even a first draft.
Brother Mark asked about the dogs the other day. Gertie has recovered from the most recent rending of her flesh by Kepler. She bounces around, her right arthritic leg slightly splayed, not holding her back very much. Rigel continues on in her healthy, happy way. She has first rights on the couch now that Vega is dead. Kepler has gone from the still puppy like dog that he was when we got him two years ago to a mature dog with a distinct personality. He loves his life, getting excited, opening and closing his mouth, lifting himself slightly off the ground by hopping whenever food or something else that pleases him happens.
And then there’s Trump. Aaaccch. But, thank the powers of the universe for offering him to us when another candidate would have given Hillary a much more difficult time.
