At a park today there was a cute family, or at least, a group on a blanket which included a young man and a young woman, and an older man and an older woman, and an old-fashioned picnic basket. The older man said, "Most woman stop growing at...." then I assume he said something about their age, but couldn't hear the rest. "You might grow when you're sixty," he said to the young man.
I tried to study but there were certain physical distractions, so then I laid back to close my eyes and bathed in Vitamin D. (The sun! The world's giantest heating pad / hot water bottle!) A blond woman in the park ran over part of my blanket and apparently rescued some of my papers before they blew away but I was out of it and didn't even know why she had done that until a bearded guy with a baby walked up and pointed it out to me. Sorry Good Samaritan! (It reminded me of a dream where a blond women in a park mentioned
The Pilot's Wife to me...hmmm...I read the book long ago.)
Two dude-centric film-induced ear worms:
You know nothing of Javert...
John Wayne's Teeth heya...
After the paper rescue I was able to enjoy reading the transcript of this
podcast about cataloging and the Renaissance) even though part of me was teetering on the edge of pain/anxiety (why, body) and then Beatrice ghost kind of came back. Her small teenage self was in a pleasant outdoor setting and surrounded by a little group. She was pregnant and approved of, almost as if she were the little princess enjoying a measure of the group's approval, and more special in the eyes of the man she married, who could show her love, but really, I thought, many of the women he saw were to him like beautiful fruits to enjoy...It was strangely normal to marry off a teenager to an older powerful rich guy back then...and her job was basically to be a dutiful, wonderful vessel....
Anyways. Back to the 21st century. Right?
Maybe this could get better!!!
Maybe???
Wildlife notes: The bees are still next door, and I'm getting used to them. The young dad across the way is still an odd communicator. (I think he mumbled something at me about how he's gonna attack the bees with a water hose next time we leave the apartment.) Apparently his dad (who is not such an odd communicator) saw the swarm arrive. They made a big sound when they appeared and took almost no time at all to pick our neighbor's apartment, he said. (This was reported to me second hand.)