We almost forgot to take the daily walk, and as soon as we started out it started to rain, but it was a very light rain, so we just kept on trucking. We went a different way, and passed this front yard with lots of bits of white sculptures. Not all of them had the classical hauteur of this curlyhead. He's quite striking, don't you think? One thinks immediately of questions of taste. Should one put sculptures into the garden? And I wondered whether it was a copy or an imitation. Then we heard someone singing the national anthem. Just now, looking at the news, I think it was Renee Fleming singing at the Super Bowl. Sorry we missed it, when we tuned in, the score was already 28 to nothing! Hardly worth the trouble of paying attention. And that Philip Seymour Hoffman just filled himself with heroin and now he's gone.
Thinking about something classical, I just started to read (again??) Proust. All 7 volumes in the fine old Scott Moncrieff translation available free on Kindle; Amazon suggested it to me last night. I have the newer translation in the living room, still in its pristine slipcase. I read part of it when I got it. Years ago. So this will make how many runs at this for me?? Hard to say . . . After the first few pages, I looked down at the bottom, where the Paperwhite Kindle shows you how much reading time you have left. It said 80 hours and 50 minutes. That's not so bad, I thought: I used to work 40 hours in a week. So then I paused for a bit to do some math. If I read an hour per day, how many weeks would it take me to finish?? Then I tried to figure about what month I would be in. After a bit, I glanced at the line at the bottom again; since the Kindle recalculates, when you change your speed, it now said 91 hours and some minutes. So I speeded up quickly, and soon was back in the 80 hour zone again. Quite a scare!
So, no poem tonight, I'm going upstairs to read!