Snap, Snap, Snap
Thursday. The low level congestion in the lungs I've had for the last couple of months is now developing into a full blown chest cold. A fever, certainly, but nothing too over the top as yet. I bailed on getting together with Mr. E at 19th Street Station this afternoon thinking, well why tempt the fates, so I've spent the afternoon watching old black and white Samurai movies in bed on my laptop (which arrived while I was in Oregon), drinking tea and listening to the news out of Pakistan. Two days, seven hundred plus miles up the coast Thursday and Friday (last) and seven hundred miles minus coming back as I took a slightly different route coming home. And didn't get lost the way I did on the way up. Hup! (Mumble.)
I'm pretty tired of old Samurai movies, by the way, and I suspect more so as the circuits start shorting out in the brain and the lungs turn to jello. Turns out I've seen most of these movies in the past, which I understood would probably be the case when I ordered them online. Fortunately my memory is such I never really remember how they end, I just remember individual scenes when I see them wondering what's coming next. Useful, this. Not remembering how they end. I have the same problem with books. Well, mysteries anyway. I can re-read them every few years and never quite remember who killed the Marchioness out on the lawn with a polo mallet or why the Duchess has what seems to be an oh so close relationship with the butler. Pots of tea, watching Samurai movies, head not good, the news about Pakistan floating in and out of 16th Century Japanese consciousness, the cough beginning to take on structure and strength.
This thing was coming on driving down the coast, but I was still able to shoot one or two pictures with a quick pull over to the side of the road, get out of the car with the camera in hand, the engine running: snap, snap, snap.
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