Go On

Dear J-

Everywhere there are end-of-year retrospectives and what-have-we-learned lessons and I’m not sure that I’m ready to commit to writing the year 2014 yet. The future rushes at us; this year is nearly spent. I’m reading Salmon Fishing in the Yemen after having watched the movie on one of these flights somewhere (was it to Japan or Canada? I can’t seem to remember.) because I compulsively watch everything that Ewan McGregor does and has done since Trainspotting. Just as that movie was — light, enjoyable, and compulsively watching, so goes the novel, which has hewed impressively well to the plot so far (approximately halfway in) aside from rewriting an abrasive political creature into a role for Kristin Scott Thomas to enjoy and moderate.

The novel is surprisingly philosophical and lyrical where it counts, the sheikh surprisingly able to fill what I fear will be a sacrificial role. Then again perhaps I’ve been reading too many tragic plot lines recently. Meanwhile life at home continues and we start to run out of things to do with the kids (that is, cheap things to do: we can only do the same things for so long before they grow weary of them, and they’re at the age where they’d rather sit and watch and play indoors depending on the will of their parents, who feel the same as temperatures fall and days grow ever so infinitesimally longer. We do need to do something; I just haven’t figured out what, nor have I done anything to do so.

We could have been hiking somewhere, I guess, if I knew where to go or if I had the courage to take them hiking. We could be making our own Emerald Necklace trail through the city, we could be and should be more active and I never mind getting them out of doors, although I never know where or how far. We can walk it. From the first time you start to walk you want to ramble, and I’d be happy to keep moving if we choose some place to go. This weekend. Let’s.



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