My friend Flossie writes: Good Lord, this heat. Our (shared) apartment on the top floor of triple decker is a heat trap. I can hear my roomies panting and complaining as we struggle to sleep in this muggy summer air soup. Our one air-conditioner is in the front room where, I swear, I will lay out my mattress if this weather doesn't break. At least in Alabama they don't pretend that the place is inhabitable in summer without AC the way they do here. I have a feeble fan that wafts hot air over my unsheeted, unpajamaed greasy-with-sweat body to no effect. Plus its whoosh-whoosh sound is annoying.
I remember this last weekend up in New Hampshire in the lake. Such excellent, silky golden water. I was out, far out, with an inflated inner tube diving down into the khaki depths and up into the sky view bullseye of the ring, then rotating my body as I held onto the tube, I spun round and round till I was dizzy. Do you know what I'm talking about? Then I looked down at my pasty white legs looking delectably tanned by the water. Ahhh.
While I'm here writing let me reply to your response. Okay, I can see a bit of what you're getting at when you talk about 2nd person-ness. You want us to have some 'skin in the game' as the saying goes. It's not enough to be a reporter; we need to be participants. Is that it?
But it's exhausting to even contemplate, regularly stepping out my 3rd person eyrie to meet and greet like a politician at a barbecue. Leaving aside our reflecting, the hugger-mugger of press-the-flesh contact with the world must make us ridiculous. Your blog love letters to trees, singing strangers, insects and colleague make you sound promiscuous, Peter. Who is the 'you' you come back to again and again as to a well in a desert?
I have a story to tell you about my work in the paper store that I think you'll enjoy but I'll wait. I'm all in a muck-sweat but sleepy. Let me try again.
I remember this last weekend up in New Hampshire in the lake. Such excellent, silky golden water. I was out, far out, with an inflated inner tube diving down into the khaki depths and up into the sky view bullseye of the ring, then rotating my body as I held onto the tube, I spun round and round till I was dizzy. Do you know what I'm talking about? Then I looked down at my pasty white legs looking delectably tanned by the water. Ahhh.
While I'm here writing let me reply to your response. Okay, I can see a bit of what you're getting at when you talk about 2nd person-ness. You want us to have some 'skin in the game' as the saying goes. It's not enough to be a reporter; we need to be participants. Is that it?
But it's exhausting to even contemplate, regularly stepping out my 3rd person eyrie to meet and greet like a politician at a barbecue. Leaving aside our reflecting, the hugger-mugger of press-the-flesh contact with the world must make us ridiculous. Your blog love letters to trees, singing strangers, insects and colleague make you sound promiscuous, Peter. Who is the 'you' you come back to again and again as to a well in a desert?
I have a story to tell you about my work in the paper store that I think you'll enjoy but I'll wait. I'm all in a muck-sweat but sleepy. Let me try again.
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