The Whistler, he’s back. (and all those blog entries in between that one and this one is an odd reminder of how much can happen in a short period of time.)
The poet is back, too. He caught me last summer in line at Andronico’s. I felt someone staring at me – I hate that feeling, so I turned around to look the culprit in the face. (tip: boys, don’t stare. go up and say something, but don’t do what this guy did.) And that’s when he offered to recite me a poem. The other day, standing outside of Starbucks with Jack, I felt his stare as he crossed the street. He approached me and offered the poem. Fortunately Jack doesn’t like poets.
Lastly, every day between 6 and 8 pm I get antsy. No television watching, no chores, no sitting in front of the computer – I have to be outside. And if I’m not I get really anxious thinking I am wasting the day and the sunlight and every ounce of potential the day may have held. I’ve done the same thing every since I was young and I used to go outside and sit on the driveway or swing in the hammock or go on very long walks by myself until the light was gone for the day. I have trouble letting daylight go, and unknown potential for that matter.