peterography

Thank god the blog writers aren’t on strike. Where would we put the picket lines? Second Life? Except for football I don’t watch TV anyway so the Hollywood writers’ strike is no big deal for me. Maybe a long strike will encourage others to junk the boob tube, too, and get a life, even if it’s only a Second Life. (Boob “tube” is an anachronism these days - can someone suggest a more up-to-date alternative?)

My wife spent the weekend up in Orford, Canada at a chamber music conclave. I stayed in Chelmsford to face the remnants of Hurricane Noel by myself. The local Boston media breathlessly warned us to expect high winds, floods, and power outages. So on Friday I cleaned some junk off the top of my whole house generator. I then went to the store to stock up on essentials - beer and coffee – I couldn’t think of anything else I needed. In the end it was a big nothing so I took advantage of the weather to spread some pelletized limestone on my lawn, allowing the rain to wash it into the soil. There was no wind to speak of.

Without my wife to cuddle up to at night I decided to let my cats sleep in our bedroom. I awoke in the middle of the night with the Birman sprawled across my legs and our 20 pound Maine Coon wedged against my hip, leaving me pinned in place like some Gulliver trapped by furry Lilliputians. I wanted turn over but I didn’t want to disturb them so I stayed still. It was better than sleeping alone.