Up early, long morning of notes and revisions. Drove across town to the Bookman store later in the afternoon and picked up ten books (Lord Jim. The Golden Bowl. Stories of John Cheever. The Virginian. A collection of short stories by Joyce Carol Oats, and a couple of Philip Roth novels. Been trying to replace the paperback titles in the library with cloth bound copies. That and preserve the clothbound editions that have been flatsigned.
Beautiful day, 60s. Sky a piercing blue. The peak looks magnificent as it always does this time of year. Fierce, snowcapped, jagged. Glad to get out for a short walk. Hoping to spend some time in the yard tomorrow, maybe cleaning the garage. Have wanted to clean the garage since the construction began on the kitchen last spring.
Finished the O’Nan book last night. Don’t know exactly why, but it really got to me. It wasn’t the writing, which was fine and serviceable, as much as it was imagining the demise of a man who still had so much to give. As soon as I finished it, I was determined to pick his short stories off the shelf downstairs and leap into them, headlong. Too many books, as they say, and too little time.
Hamburgers for dinner tonight, hot off the grill. Beer and chips with family. Splendid Saturday, just splendid.