In the West I would undoubtedly have been a ‘writer of dark things’, the kind that sounds the horn of pessimism, predicts the end of Europe, the senselessness of human endeavour and of the whole evolution of our species. Here, in this intellectual and economic wreckage, I blow the trumpet of morality and the meaningfulness of our existence.
[Zygmunt Mycielski]

Early this morning I watched a robin sitting, very upright and alert, on the gable of the house next door. He had his back to me and was surveying whatever he could see from where he sat, carrying himself like a little kestrel.

I thought of The Secret Garden and the robin in that story, and of Cormack McCarthy’s The Road and the absence of birds and live things in that story, and suddenly I felt enormously grateful that the apocalypse has not happened, yet, here, and that the robin was there and has dozens of siblings on our block alone, and that the wrens in their tiny bodies are singing songs that are sometimes louder even than the trucks passing on the street in front of the house, and that one of the azalea blossoms I picked yesterday and put in a tiny vase has opened overnight.

What the person whose jaw is x-rayed below has in common with me: a molar with four nerve canals. Apparently molars usually have three, but my endodontist found out Wednesday that one of mine has four.

I am a little sad to think that my poor little molar has had its nerves all drilled out and the spaces filled with rubber. But when I think of what those nerves were doing to my head before they got removed, I get less sad.

In memoriam, The Nerves of Tooth # 14.

 

root canal image

Great-great-grandson of Godzilla

[Thank you, Amy Laura Hall.]

Announcing the newest phase in my quest for sleep: The Granny Schedule. At 8 pm Durham time I am going to lock my front door, turn off my phone, and shut down my computer. [1] [2]

1. If you find yourself in need of my aid between 8 pm and 7 am (say a rabid dog chews off your arm near the corner of Green and Buchanan) do feel free to come bang on my door, and I will unlock it for you. (In the spirit of full disclosure, I should warn you that my antibacterial cream expired in 2009, and I am not in possession of an automobile for hospital runs; wherefore you may find it expedient to bang on Tanner’s door across the street, or Celia’s next door, instead. But I do have lots of cough medicine.)

2. I am not doing this because I stopped liking people. To make up for my solitary evenings I am going to try to have lots of social lunches and early dinners and fun people-times on Sunday afternoons, and at other times between 7 am and 8 pm (early breakfast, anyone?). If you have time to hang out with me then, I will be delighted.

Here’s Gregory Wolfe responding to Paul Elie’s claim that fiction has lost its faith.

energy = milk x coffee2

I especially like it when her crew and band get her to smile and laugh and be silly. I am grateful that she has people who know how to make her laugh! And grateful that I do too.

bad request

the direct route

and she said:

“It’s just—I get the cheap Greek yogurt, and then a clove of garlic—they call for tons of garlic, but I don’t need it to be dragon-fire-breathing strong, so I put in one. And then salt and pepper. And oh, the cucumbers—they say to cut out the seeds and put it in a food processor or something, but I thought, that’s ridiculous—the crunchy part is the best part! And the seeds are crunchy. So I leave the seeds in, and chop it up fine. And they say to put in olive oil, but I only put a little. And then they say red wine vinegar but I put in white balsamic. You know, a tablespoon or so for a cup. They also say to drain the Greek yogurt, but I did that once, in a sieve, and it didn’t make any difference. So I don’t. Really simple.”