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My, how time flies...
Sep. 19th, 2011 04:41 pmIf I were someone other than who I am, I might be tempted to go back and find out when I last skipped two days of LiveJournal posting in a month (and in a month—this month—that's still relatively young). Yet on the other hand, I can say that, to date this year, I have more no-post days than in 2009 and 2010 combined.
Not that my posts are deathless, by no means. I am well aware that very many of them are mundane, to the point of quite often ignoring the news of the day. Today, for example, I can boast of having translated nearly 6,000 target words of text.
This past weekend was very seductive by its lack of outstanding work to do, and despite the fact I did undertake some of the huge volume of cleaning/sorting there is to do around the place, it was not really a time for reflection.
Unless you count my getting reacquainted with my Conklin fountain pen, a marvelous contraption made of hard black rubber (and an antique, as it was made somewhere about 100 years ago, if memory serves) with a curious filling mechanism that gives this type of pen its name: the Conklin Crescent Filler.
This is by far not the smoothest pen I own, in terms of writing—it makes something of a racket as the point goes over the paper—but there is a certain je ne sais quoi I feel once I lift the point from the paper.
Or if you count yesterday's menu for dinner with Drew and his family: pork tenderloin with a semi-aoli mixture of garlic and olive oil, black ("forbidden") rice, and cornbread, of which copious leftovers remain (requiring all of my willpower not to go and raid as I tap out this post).
Which, of course, raises the question: Why should I exert willpower to not eat, considering I haven't really eaten lunch?
Later...
Not that my posts are deathless, by no means. I am well aware that very many of them are mundane, to the point of quite often ignoring the news of the day. Today, for example, I can boast of having translated nearly 6,000 target words of text.
This past weekend was very seductive by its lack of outstanding work to do, and despite the fact I did undertake some of the huge volume of cleaning/sorting there is to do around the place, it was not really a time for reflection.
Unless you count my getting reacquainted with my Conklin fountain pen, a marvelous contraption made of hard black rubber (and an antique, as it was made somewhere about 100 years ago, if memory serves) with a curious filling mechanism that gives this type of pen its name: the Conklin Crescent Filler.
This is by far not the smoothest pen I own, in terms of writing—it makes something of a racket as the point goes over the paper—but there is a certain je ne sais quoi I feel once I lift the point from the paper.
Or if you count yesterday's menu for dinner with Drew and his family: pork tenderloin with a semi-aoli mixture of garlic and olive oil, black ("forbidden") rice, and cornbread, of which copious leftovers remain (requiring all of my willpower not to go and raid as I tap out this post).
Which, of course, raises the question: Why should I exert willpower to not eat, considering I haven't really eaten lunch?
Later...
