I woke up at 6:20 this morning, pulled on my shorts, laced up my sneakers and did my "evening" walk around the island. The just-past-full moon, reflected on the river, reminded me of a Highwaymen painting. And there was something beautiful about starting the walk in darkness and ending it in daylight, the rare hopefulness of dawn replacing the everyday wistfulness of dusk.
The French have a reputation for being snobbish sophisticates, so it was interesting last night to see Charles, when presented with the cork from the wine bottle he had ordered, bring his hands up to his chest like paws, lean forward, and sniff in a way that suggested he was wagging his tail.
I used to like going on Facebook, where I'd learn about people's successes - Facebook is no place for failure - and find links to interesting articles I would not have learned about otherwise.
Now on Facebook I find lots of lists (mostly bogus) and videos that, I am told, will unfold in ways I won't believe or change the way I think about something. I ignore all of them, not because I'm resistant to change but because I'm resistant to hype. The social media site that was supposed to be all about connection has become all about promotion. Which I suppose is the American way.
The doctor kept me waiting 45 minutes. When he arrived, he apologized, and when I went to get on the examining table, he invited me to sit in the chair, so we could "talk eye-to-eye." When mine dropped down, they settled on his socks, which had a design of pink, purple and white horizontal stripes. When you wear a white coat you have to rely on your footwear to show your flair. He complimented me on my bookbag, which he said looked "well-traveled." I should have complimented him on his socks.