Perhaps I’m in a funk because at least one of the four books I’m currently reading is a dystopian classic by Sinclair Lewis entitled It Can’t Happen Here (1936), part of my journey into various warped zones. Perhaps it’s just hormonal, pre-menopausal doldrums. Not enough fruit, vegetables and exercise?
I did purchase a new battery for my pedometer, hoping the predicted snow for later this week leaves only a dusting so I and my Rotts can get back in shape. We could all benefit from a brisk walk and fresh air to invigorate our outlook on life.
My outlook dimmed after reading L.E. Modesitt’s recent blog post about the problem of proving truth. I attempted to comment, probably not very eloquently, nor diplomatically, but again, my fug lens needs cleansing.
I do have my daughter’s first concert of the spring semester to look forward to tomorrow evening. One of the choirs she’s a member of (Chamber Choir) performs a short concert at 6:30 pm, streamed live over the Internet. She’s listed in the program under the Altos as Rachelle Moss, mostly because the color of her voice lands her in that section nine times out of ten. I do miss hearing her rehearsing at home.
I’ll get little rest, peace or quite tonight (so I might as well walk the dogs) since it’s practice night for my husband’s rock band. I just wish it wasn’t dark so early, because I could take my camera with me while walking and probably snap a few interesting photos. I don’t want to start yet another book (on audio via my phone) nor do I want to re-hash all the old MP3s I’ve let languish there. Guess I’ll just talk to Roxy or Apollo until they howl me silent.
I did finish my third crochet project of the year, but haven’t had a chance to photograph Terry modeling his new scarf. He did wear it yesterday when he was out and about, but said it was so warm he had to remove it. At least he won’t be cold the next time we have a frigid blizzard in February.
Today I wish my mom a very Happy Birthday. Here’s a photo of her from 1965 helping me celebrate my first birthday: