September 1, 2019

My 69th year under heaven. Even to say the number is shocking. Sophie said, “You certainly don’t look like you’re nearing 70.” Very relative, but better than saying I look exactly like that. Excellent sermon at church, then a season-opening picnic with waterslide. Something at the picnic made me sick, and I didn’t do the waterslide, but I blessed from my heart the happy children who did. One must note that a really good poem appeared in the New Yorker, slipped through, apparently, the sieve that seeks for the worst. It was about a young girl looking at bodies at a swimming pool. Maria is making dinner for me tonight. The day has lain blue and lovely on all things. Almost enough birthday greetings on the Internet to satisfy me. None from school. That says it all.