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desperanceYesterday I went up to the city, to meet up with Brenda Clough and hit the Turner exhibition at the de Young. Train and BART and bus, and we did splendidly, finding first each other and then the bus stop and then the gallery without a hitch. And Turner also had done splendidly, for these late paintings are a delight and a challenge and I would happily have brought half of them home with me; and then we had lunch and walked in the Japanese tea garden and talked about the history of the British Empire on Mars, so the whole day is too totally deductible, oh yes.
And today, as commonly on Saturdays, I am being mostly domestic. I have marketed with farmers, and fetched home fruits and vegetables and half a dozen succulents for the difficult bed against the north wall of the house, for m'wife delights in succulents. (I find them weird and alien, and so does she; and apparently we feel differently about these facts. In other words, I have still not shed early prejudices nor adapted to a semi-desert aesthetic.)
And now I am cleaning the cooker and such, while we munch on grapes from the market and figs from the neighbour's tree; and shortly we will head off for afternoon tea with friends, where there may possibly be more talk of Mars and gardens, and I will be nobly silent on the matter of cricket because Tim is Australian. Can such pleasures be?
And today, as commonly on Saturdays, I am being mostly domestic. I have marketed with farmers, and fetched home fruits and vegetables and half a dozen succulents for the difficult bed against the north wall of the house, for m'wife delights in succulents. (I find them weird and alien, and so does she; and apparently we feel differently about these facts. In other words, I have still not shed early prejudices nor adapted to a semi-desert aesthetic.)
And now I am cleaning the cooker and such, while we munch on grapes from the market and figs from the neighbour's tree; and shortly we will head off for afternoon tea with friends, where there may possibly be more talk of Mars and gardens, and I will be nobly silent on the matter of cricket because Tim is Australian. Can such pleasures be?