The bar is set pretty low in terms of the interest quotient for letters. Anyone who tells you otherwise is smoking something illegal in most states except Colorado and Washington.
For the most part a letter is inherently boring, perhaps even to Ellen and Reid (and most certainly to you). The long-held conviction here stands that what is written week-in-and-week-out is largely a reflection of grandeur-less daily life. A hodgepodge of bland and vanilla normalcy if you will. The value of a letter is to paint a larger picture of routine events over time. That’s the most I can expect the kids get out of it.
Yeah, it might be snippets and snapshots about fishing failures or riding my bike or trying to be an artist or attempts to teach or anything else. It doesn’t amount to much of real interest. It just makes it another morning in another week in another year of staying in touch.
March 14, 2016
Ellen/Reid: The romaine/arugula seeds are in the ground – if you can call container gardening ‘ground’ – but we’ll have to settle for what dirt we have.
Most of the furniture – the loveseat and one chair – arrives tomorrow with the tables two weeks from now. Wish it would all be here at once. The furnishings will fill a considerable, and embarrassing, void on the first floor. Maybe the room will see some real use for the first time in 10 years.
Hard to believe I’ve never sat in the room. It’s almost a three season room since it’s so cold down there in the winter. Heat rises from the first floor to the third. I woke up this morning with a paint scheme for the hoped-for art on the wall.
My 90 day dating site experiment mercifully ends tomorrow. It’s been a complete bust for the most part. I’ve met some nice women but I think the issue lies with me rather than them. In the final analysis I’m just not ready to settle down. That’s a hard thing to admit to. What I do know is it’s hard to hope all the time but you can’t force things. That I golf with my group has been a deal-killer for some who see it as selfish on Saturdays, and maybe they have a valid point. But for the most part golf is my social structure, save some friends from Caldwell, and I’m nowhere ready to give up on trying to be physical or athletic.
Ellen, I’ll ship All the Light We Cannot See to you later this week along with some coffee beans (you’ll get five bags of French roast beans, too, Reid). The book is good and you’ll zip through it in no time. Glad Tim likes the hiking pants. Arc’teryx really makes some good stuff. I’ve not come across anything better. Reid, I’ll walk six miles to the bike store later this week to buy the new three speed, plus the helmet you insist on, and ride it back home.
Bought a lowering kit for the Road King. It works by impacting the rear shocks (and) should take the back end down about two inches. It’ll make me feel better to have a little more knee bend and thus more control by lowering the center of gravity. I don’t know why Harley made the bike so damn tall. The plan is to still ride later this spring to Chicago and St. Paul and then points West.
My Central Piedmont Community College class is over. My students and I wrapped things up over a few beers and fish tacos – and a lecture – at a local cantina. They really were a good crew. Part of our swan song was for them to fill out evaluation forms on the instructor. I left the table for a few minutes and since one of the students sealed the forms in a big envelope and mailed it, there’s no way to know how they judged me. But that was the honest way to go about it. Here’s to hoping that they’ll be successful in their budding careers.
Spent a frustrating few hours cooling my heels at the local Social Security office without ever seeing someone. It was bizarre. When I sat down, the electronic board showed they were ‘serving’ number 19, and nearly three hours later they had progressed all the way to ‘serving’ number 31. Since my number was 80, I could do that math and walked out the door. But I was able to snag an April 8 appointment with a call over the phone. We’ll see how well that works out. To sit there with other oldsters makes me feel, well, old. But I’d better get used to it.
If I can get things together, Miss Emma and I will make another trip to Charleston on Thursday on yet another attempt to catch something, anything. If not, it will be the third straight trip of abject nothingness. You’ve no doubt heard the saying about doing something ‘or die trying.’ That’s me.