Online news this morning is deeply depressing, so I will not subject myself to any more of it for a while. I made the mistake of glancing at the AP and NPR websites when I sat down; the headlines were more than enough for me. The unrelentingly monstrous news coverage of the President’s address to a joint session of Congress dashed my secret desire to learn that the Designated Survivor procedure had been implemented.
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Sustained winds of only 15-20 miles per hour were—until just moments ago—making the doors, walls, and windows of the house creak as if the howling winds roaring against them were much more powerful. For a few moments, though, the winds’ ferocity seemed to have diminished, only to be replaced by even longer and louder shrieks. I can only imagine the power of the gusts as door and window frames groan against them. Though I doubt the winds will be strong enough to do any direct damage to the house, I have no such confidence in the ability of nearby trees to withstand them. Recent storms have knocked large, time-weakened limbs and branches to the ground, cluttering the streets. The roadsides close to us have lately been littered with shattered pieces of old-growth trees, torn from their trunks. Perhaps Mother Nature is cleansing the forest in preparation for a frenzy of sprigs and shoots and assorted other greenery.
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Interference with my usual morning ritual disturbs me. No coffee, nothing to eat…only water to drink this morning. Five hours will pass before I can return to some semblance of early-day normalcy which, by then, will no longer be a match for the time of day. At least the PET-scan is scheduled for relatively early today (8:30-10:30); otherwise, I would feel the pangs of hunger and the chaos of shattered custom until late in the afternoon. By the time I visit my oncologist for the scan results, I may have been able to consume a light lunch. I am ravenously hungry. I will be hungrier as the hours pass. Not a complaint; just an observation.
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Last night, we deliberately avoided the atrocity that would take over broadcast television. Instead, we finished watching a BritBox 2-season Australian serial (Scrublands) about a journalist’s investigation into a small community’s young priest who commits a mass killing in his congregation. I was impressed with the plot, the writing, and the acting (for the most part). One of the characters looked very familiar to me; mi novia investigated why I might know him and discovered that he (Robert Taylor) played Longmire on the long-running American TV series. I had no idea he is Australian.
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The wind. Again. The sounds could be recorded and used as part of a sound-track for a film set in a lighthouse during a vicious storm. Why a lighthouse? I am not sure; it just seems right. It could be set in a decrepit old mansion on a deserted coastline.
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I awoke too early this morning. I can barely keep my eyes open. Time to set my alarm for 7:30, rest on the loveseat in the TV room, and forget about my powerful urge to eat breakfast. Later, I’ll make my way to town…hopefully bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.
