I am sitting in the sunroom with a rum and coke, popcorn and thinking I need to get a blog off. Playing on my Iphone is the latest Robert Galbraith Cormoran Strike novel. I am not a fan of J.K. Rowling because of her gender identity bigotry, even though in this country one would think we are used to it. Actually last week I listened to the first Harry Potter story just to be carried away by the reading of Jim Dale. She (Rowling) is quite the story teller, and I like this latest one in the series of the complex character of Strike, better than the others. I remember writing about her first one in the series that she seemed uncomfortable writing from the shoes of a male main character. Not so now. She seems to know him quite well.
This morning it was back to chair yoga. Working with the physical therapist has made this easier. I have more security of movement. But the best part is near the end where we each concentrate on parts of the body in an order that gives such relaxation. I could almost drop off by the time we say, “Namaste” together. But in the beginning we are supposed to concentrate on something to be grateful about, something to be positive about, something to hope for….
And I think that in this country there is little to be grateful about when so many still spout the lies of the abhorrent president and his Nazi-leaning sycophants. At my age, soon to be 81 years of age, there is little time left to see the recovery from such ignorance.
I can escape into writing and drawing. This past week the basket makers of Tasmania were gathering to weave and stitch together….so I joined them.
I might go to poetry tomorrow and read this one about a state of hopelessness that I wrote during Lee’s dementia.
I Wish S. Webster
I wish, I wish, I wish
I wish, I wish….
until I don’t
anymore.
I wish
I had known
that would happen.
Time to close and go heat up my leftover pizza. And an Aussie wine!
Til later….