I wrote yesterday to my friend Bruce, a faithful blog reader, asking him if he thought the posts were getting too long. He wrote back to say he couldn't tell me because he's too busy to read them and will get back to them when he has time. I think that answers my question. I want to delight you with my discoveries, not end up like some relative hanging onto your lapels, crying, Wait, just one more series of slides - my last afternoon in Biarritz, it's so beautiful. Then you can go home.
So I will try to cut these down.
On a more personal note, I lay in bed this morning thinking, again, I'm here. Still hard to believe sometimes. I made a mental list of my daily activities in Toronto, including reading two newspapers and the weekly "New Yorker," dealing with an old four story house, two tenants, a front and back yard, my job at two universities, my job at home with writing students, family young and old. Feeding the cat twice a day and the birds once a week. And as often as possible, Jon Stewart on TV.
Here, all I have to do is feed myself and keep the place - two rooms and a small kitchen - and my clothes and self clean. And email, always, email, and write here. No cat, no birds, no tenants or TV. And yet, even in the absence of all those daily Toronto activities, the days speed by; two weeks have disappeared. Well, today I'm going to sit here and take stock. And do some writing work. But first, I'm going to cut lots out of yesterday's piece.
There. Nice and short. See ya!
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