200505290955 At Dunn Brothers. Took Stella to the river and back, went to Super America and got a gallon of milk because we were out, did the crossword. Read the first chapter to Liam of some book that he pciked out at the bookstore last night. Iced my back while I was doing the crossword and reading to Liam. And I have taken ibuprofen–the first time in days. Dorothea is with her refugee at the zoo.
I told the children to be ready to go on a bike ride at 10:30.
Continue reading Bike to Como Park Zoo
At Dunn Brother’s Coffee Shop again. Quite early. I ducked out without taking the dog out. The way I figure it, I can’t be expected to do it everyday. I am thinking that five or seven mornings is about right. I took here, I couldn’t come in here.
Continue reading Puppy Service Level Agreement
Dunn Brothers. Jazz. Lite, sax. I just took Stella for a walk down to the river and back.
Our street, and the addresses of the houses, is like the history of the world from the time of Christ to the near future.
Continue reading History of time in street addresses
Nina’s. Thinking about how much of my life is sliding through chutes, slipping into slots. Passages, wormholes. Zones of comfort that I go toward again and again. The Y, the sauna at the Y: open the door, no one in there; or Bill, Merl, the jazz guitar art teacher. The open swim lane. Nina’s was.
Continue reading Sliding through chutes
The way it looks, I am into a groove of writing about three days a week and updating those writings to the blog about once a week. I suppose that is okay. I would like to post more frequently. I keep thinking that it would be a good thing if I could post via email, using my pager. But there is an ethical question, since the pager belongs to that bank. Plus, certainly the quality of the writing would suffer even more.
Continue reading My new groove
There is a guy at the table next to me, here at Dunn Brother’s Coffee, talking a mile a minute, thinking at about a thousand words a minute with a woman, adjusting. He’s got a University of Minnesota polo shirt. What they are talking about could be bad work conditions anywhere, or school politics, or church committees.
Continue reading Compulsive? What me compulsive?
200505170715 No Y today. There’s the guy behind me, talking to himself. Don’t we all? He just quitely mutters.
Last night I watched the PBS documentary about the Battle of the Bulge. No wonder people end up muttering to themselves. Or each other, on cellphones. I think that show is ten years old, and I think that I have watched it before.
Continue reading Starbucks
I am out in the the shed. Our backyard shed that is really more of a little house with an overhead garage door. I have work yesterday and day to get it cleared out and usable. Now, with the shovels, rakes, hoes, and spades racked on the wall and the bicycles, lawnmowers and golf clubs along one wall, two-thirds of the one hundred and forty-four feet is cleared.
Continue reading Shed
This morning, Dorothea was going off about Norm Coleman, our junior Senator from Minnesota. “Slim bag,sleazy, sleazy, low-life.” “Could you be more specific?” I said. “Why, yes, ‘lickspittle’:toady, flatter.” She got this from reading the Star Tribune article today:
Continue reading Lickspittle
The dog is white and about Stella’s size, has the seem sort of face, the black lips, shaggy coat, though white. Old guy, white spring parka, though a different white, and a navy-blue crew cap and a cane. Great. He puts the dog in a shoulder strap tote bag, and heads off. Limps off.
Continue reading Dog in a tote bag