November 22, 2016

The terrible anniversary. I was sitting n Mr Tucker’s history class at Hyre Junior High. . . the PA gave the announcement. Mr Tucker sat down on his desk, pale as snow, his mouth open.

Still a scent of burning in the air, and still no rain. Volunteered my house for the department Christmas party, but we are so lacking in unanimity that a date can’t be found to suit all, or even many.
   
Treadmill at the Y this AM, reading The Warmth of Other Suns on Kindle. Went too far and staggered spent to Starbucks under the lopsided moon. Toilet reading is Melville’s letters to Hawthorne. I am a sort of Melville, now that I think of it.