It felt nigh on Houston-like as I went out for my walk this morning. Ugh. At least there's a little breeze. I found the burrow of the other groundhog, down at the bottom of the gravel road the farmhouse is on. She was poking her nose out when I passed by. My little schnauzer pal was so busy basking in the sun, I had to whistle to get his attention. "You're falling down on the job," I scolded him.
Just goes to show, there is no idea so good that it cannot be turned into stupid reality programming. Sigh.
And thanks to Gene, I found that there is a new Stonehenge, but thousands of years only assure that it is more accurate, yet less charming. Speaking of less than charming, I was glad to see Women's E-News expose another in the seemingly endless line of hypocritical 'moralists' appointed by the current administration, as they reveal in an article today that:
"The Nation magazine in its May 30th issue uncovered allegations that Dr. W. David Hager, a religious conservative obstetrician and gynecologist who sits on the Food and Drug Administration's advisory panel on reproductive health drugs, sexually abused his former wife."
He's resigning -- a little difficult to maintain that sanctimonious tone when your own moral shortcomings have been exposed.
Well, aren't I cranky today? It's the weather. But now that I've come back from my chat with Gene at the Colony headquarters, I have a dinner in the fridge and need not go back outside until tomorrow -- unless it cools down, then I'll go out on the hill and play my kantele like I did yesterday. Nothing like playing along with all the bird songs, letting the ringing sound roll down the hill. It's what Väinämöinen would have wanted.
And when I am despairing, I shall recall these wonderful words of HPL, quoted in the Guardian today:
"I am well-nigh resolv'd to write no more tales, but merely to dream when I have a mind to, not stopping to do any thing so vulgar as to set down the dream for a boarish Publick. I have concluded that Literature is no proper pursuit for a gentleman; and that Writing ought never to be consider'd but as an elegant Accomplishment to be indulg'd in with infrequency, and Discrimination."
And if I were in Ottawa, I would have been here today; alas, I can only imagine it. There must be more than one bookstore in Eureka Springs...
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