I'm in a house full of sleeping young humans and old dogs. It's eight thirty and I overslept because I had my mid-early morning newspapers of the world review from about two till five. I know that Hillary and Obama did not vote for the war funding bill, that after her clash with Elizabeth Rosie is considering not going back The View after the weekend, and that Donald Trump has taken Rosie's side, that there is no new news in the case of Madeleine McCann and that President Bush was shat on by a bird in the rose garden yesterday. I have an assignment to study Yeats and to use him as my poetry muse. My peripheral knowledge of him made me initially enthusiastic and now I think he's only good for borrowed lines to name books by Joan Didion. Or it could be that my grasp of the classics is so thin that I'm finding him hard to decipher. Miss Calendar Girl will be here shortly and we will work on our piece together and I need to gather up my energies. I've started to do something with the deer on Laurel Canyon story that I think I might like. I'm reading Barbara Ras furiously (literally gulping it down while wondering why on earth I can't write like that!) It's all about streamlining and focus today I think. Here I have a nice pile of regurgitated thoughts and ideas and randomness and now, hopefully, I can move on.
I'm almost loathe to say this, but I took Timmy out for about three hours in the mountains yesterday afternoon while Minky slept (poor thing is still sick), just him, Dotsie and me, on a very hot day. It was beautiful. The shrub is graying. It's that time of year. But we listened to birds and looked at the purple mountains northeast of us and Timmy kept his little brown ears pricked happily forward. Actually I took pictures of him with my phone because he was so sweet. Jumby has a great little horse there.
