Yesterday was my fifty-second birthday. Moira gave me a book of fairy tales rewritten by Philip Pullman, which looks promising. (It reminds me to return to those Dumbass fairy tales I've been rewriting myself.)
The other week Moira asked me why I didn't complain about the cold weather, and I said that I was happy to have problems I knew I couldn't do anything about: it's better than those problems where you have a feeling you should be doing something about them but you're not sure what. Well, that's the same way I feel about growing older.
Today I went to see Dr. Hassan. On the way I took a gamble and stopped off at the Northern Branch library to borrow their copy of James Fenimore Cooper's The Pioneers. As a result I was five minutes late, but as I expected the shrink was even later in getting around to me.
My winter boots are shot and I had to borrow Father's to go out. I had lunch at KFC for the first time in a while, and didn't like their waffle fries, which are too much like potato chips.
I haven't looked at the American Experience documentaries at pbs.org for a while, but tonight I watched a film about American relief efforts during the Russian famine of 1921.
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