A typical Uneventful saturday

6/23/2018

For breakfast on Saturday morning or early afternoon, depending on when I get out of bed, I am most fond of cereal & milk, two over-easy eggs sprinkled with herbs and shredded cheese on top of tomatoe slices. All this and three shots of Seattle 6th Ave Dark Roast coffee with brown sugar.

A Typical Saturday on 23 June 2018

Caleb's South of Eden

On this occasion, I stay in the kitchen and read a book at the counter while I eat just after feeding Caleb and the Neons.

This morning Caleb is active, full of energy and swims swiftly to the glass to greet me with that dance he does to get me to drop pellets into the tank. By now he is almost to the point of taking the pellet from my finger. One Neon has caught on to this interaction between finger and Caleb and he or she swims up the top to join in. Though, I’ve determined I need to crunch a pellet down even smaller for Neons to chew like Caleb. I am unsure, however, if Neons chew. They only seem to swallow greedily, where as Caleb’s lips protrude when he’s chewing a pellet or a tiny dry shrimp before he swallows. Unlike the Neons who eat fish flakes falling into the thank greedily, Caleb is picky and not so fond of fish flakes.

So, I am finishing up Cannery Row by John Steinbeck. Steinbeck, Hemingway and Bronte are the only writers I can tolerate when I am writing or between writing. I have grown particularly fond of all of John Steinbeck’s work.

I like this passage very much in Steinbeck’s Cannery Row from Chapter 22:

The Setup: (Henri has just lost another girl. His girlfriends always leave him after living with Henri for several months on Henri’s boat that is cramped—to cramped for two people—, has a low ceiling you’re always hitting your head and no toilet. Though Henri is sad that Alice, the last girl, has left, he is also rather relieved he can now stretch out as he pleases, eat what he wants and be free. Yet he mourns for a while after being deserted from the absence of female companionship and buys a gallon of wine to get drunk. While drinking he cried sometimes being all by himself but in the end, he gets a wonderful feeling of well-being.)

"It was during this his ritualistic mournings for the lost of Alice that the strange thing began to happen. It was night and his lamp was burning and he had just barely begun to get drunk when suddenly he knew he was no longer alone. He let his eye wander cautiously up and across the cabin and there on the other side sat a devilish young man, a dark handsome young man. His eyes gleamed with cleverness and spirit and energy and his teeth flashed. There was something very dear and yet very terrible in his face. And beside him sat a golden-haired little boy, hardly more than a baby. The man looked down at the baby and the baby looked back and laughed delightedly as though something wonderful were about to happen. Then the man looked over at Henri and smiled and he glanced back at the baby. From his upper left vest pocket he took an old-fashioned straight-edged razor. He opened it and indicated the child with a gesture of his head. He put a hand among the curls and the baby laughed gleefully and then the man tilted the chin and cut the baby’s throat and the baby went right on laughing. But Henri was howling with terror…" --John Steinbeck, Cannery Row

Deathmate

I am amazed by the modern world. I can chit-chat with my boyfriend thousands of miles away while reading Steinbeck, eating breakfast and occasionally watching Alfred Hitchcock Presents. Though, I confess it is hard to take my eyes off Lee Philips. I love the way he grins, love it when he plays bad as in an episode entitled Deathmate.

Philips plays Ben Conan, a slick, good-looking con-man, good at everything he does including making love to another man’s wife while a drunken husband sleeps and then a very clean murder.

Pride-less in Florence

San Francisco is buzzing with PRIDE celebrations all weekend. Last year, I lived in the heart of all the festivities at the foot of Leavenworth Street and there was no way to avoid it.

Here in a town like Florence there is hardly anything visible to denote PRIDE. The only thing I’ve seen downtown was two small flags on a counter in the Public Library to promote LBGT books to read. Nothing at all like high-spirited San Francisco and New York.