Frazzling Friday...
Another day spent hopping from one task to another—everything but translation—and although there is no sense of direct movement, there is a vague feeling in the pit of my gut that progress of a sort is being made.
In my copious spare time, I've been reinforcing some old mnemonics, on a sort of just-in-case basis. Perhaps it's some kind of mechanism I'm using to overcome the rather traumatic effects of watching how my mom's mind slowly slipped away (albeit from a distance, with not anywhere near the full effect of watching it happen up close and personal), but it's also a way of stretching my mind, and in particular, my ability to visualize.
Speaking of visualization, I found a curious movie on Netflix titled El secreto de sus ojos (The Secret of Their Eyes), an Argentinian thriller about a retired investigator who writes a novel based on a 25-year-old rape/murder, with a story line that jumps back and forth and also manages to make some statements about love and age and the tyrrany of "woulda-coulda-shoulda."
As a side note, I sometimes let my mind whirr while watching foreign films, by attempting to match subtitles to what is said. My Spanish is fairly rudimentary, but I was surprised at just how little I was able to piece together from the spoken dialog. (The tactic works far better while watching French films.)
It snowed today, heavily at times, but I suspect the temperature at our elevation just wasn't low enough to support much accumulation. Our luck continues to hold, although the weekend is young.
Cheers...
In my copious spare time, I've been reinforcing some old mnemonics, on a sort of just-in-case basis. Perhaps it's some kind of mechanism I'm using to overcome the rather traumatic effects of watching how my mom's mind slowly slipped away (albeit from a distance, with not anywhere near the full effect of watching it happen up close and personal), but it's also a way of stretching my mind, and in particular, my ability to visualize.
Speaking of visualization, I found a curious movie on Netflix titled El secreto de sus ojos (The Secret of Their Eyes), an Argentinian thriller about a retired investigator who writes a novel based on a 25-year-old rape/murder, with a story line that jumps back and forth and also manages to make some statements about love and age and the tyrrany of "woulda-coulda-shoulda."
As a side note, I sometimes let my mind whirr while watching foreign films, by attempting to match subtitles to what is said. My Spanish is fairly rudimentary, but I was surprised at just how little I was able to piece together from the spoken dialog. (The tactic works far better while watching French films.)
It snowed today, heavily at times, but I suspect the temperature at our elevation just wasn't low enough to support much accumulation. Our luck continues to hold, although the weekend is young.
Cheers...