jaeleslie

Nothing particular demanded of me today. I reclined on the sofa and read the papers. Coffee and sugary fried apple fritter were brought to me. Headache gradually went away.

Tended the cat, who slept again, and I read more papers. Tossed everything, except teevee guide, local grocery sales flyer, and a photo of someone's particularly nice remodeled studio, all windows and bare wood and empty tables and closed drawers. The reason I have sky-blue blinds (white walls, unpainted rafters) on my little windows down here in the basement study & studio was some long-ago dream of colored blankets and kiva ladders. No skylights, but many bookshelves, check.

Kid came home from gaming, and I made us sandwiches. He formulated plan for us to go to movies midafternoon (Bond -- James Bond). We discussed Goldeneye which was on the network last night (his gaming friends had a lively debate about whether Bond always battles a female nemesis, or in only three films). Saved movie pages out of newspaper on the floor: we will go to many movies during the holidays. I made dinner casserole (a tiny lasagne, no cheese, just try that, hah! I am a professional!) and set timer on oven. We can pick up bread on the way home.

Or maybe not. The grocery is only a block away, and will have acceptable vienna or french bread. Plan has changed as I sit here, he has been up all night and now that he has showered he needs a nap. It is a fine thing to have such a teenager. "I could take you this evening," he says. I am the one who would be driving, and paying for the tickets, but let that pass, it is still charming to have someone else make plans for my amusement.

But there is a long-awaited PBS show to watch this evening: Tony Hillerman's Skinwalkers, from a series I have long ago read in its entirety, with several of my favorite actors doing the detectin'. Yes! Movie another night.

I read a review in London Review of Books today about the Victorian view of scientific objectivity. It was a long time ago, but boredom with one's own subjectivity is still a lively problem. Whether the personal view is hopelessly egotistical for even artistic purposes (as Henry James thot) is a matter that obviously can be smacked headfirst into LiveJournal to see if any sparks fly. Maybe just a damp thud, and we fall back stunned.