Sunday, November 15, 2015
March 3, 2018
I know, I know—a handwritten letter on paper in an envelope. What the hell. I was just in a mood to see something on hard copy, as they used to (?) call it. Besides, as much fun as it is to be able to write and send photos at the speed of light (the novelty hasn't worn off on me although it should have long ago—I'll turn sixty this year), it's cool to think about this physical item going from Philadelphia to Eugene. One little envelope traveling by truck, plane, truck again and finally, a human hand putting it in a box. All this done for under a dollar by people who don't even know me. If we're going to correspond only a few times a year, there's no rush, right? I hope you don't toss this out with the junk mail.
I've been looking at your daughters' Facebook pages. Even though you're the one who told me to do that and provided the links, I still feel a little creepy doing it because I've never met them. Me, the never married dirty old man. They are wonderful young women. A lot more active than I was at their age, or any age, come to think of it, and I see a lot of you in them. That sunny charisma of yours was passed down to them.
Isn't is weird how close to normal everything seems despite the event of three months ago? Everyone knew it was inevitable that terrorists would eventually go nuclear, and Paris was always the prime target in Europe, though why I have no idea. It was always a tolerant city more welcoming of outsiders than most parts of the U.S.
Over a million killed in seconds. I know I'm not the only one who has a hard time grasping this. It's hard to believe I don't know any of the dead, though that's indicative of the size of my circle of friends.
I had wanted to visit Paris in a few years, after my Social Security kicks in and I can say I'm retired instead of semi-employed, which is a stretch, by the way. Obviously, that will never happen now. I don't even know when I'll get to New York again. No matter how you get there now it takes forever to get through all the checks.
OK, enough grim talk. Onward and upward. What's spring like in Oregon? Lots of rain? Here it's the usual weeks of cold mud and dusty days, but fresh, wet green things poking up from the ground remind us that summer is ahead. Or is it? The forecasts on what the bomb's effects on the weather will be are all over the place. I guess the weather will be its usual, capricious self.