By Harryette Mullen
Forgive me, I’m no good at this. I can’t write back. I never read your letter.
I can’t say I got your note. I haven’t had the strength to open the envelope.
The mail stacks up by the door. Your hand’s illegible. Your postcards were
defaced. Wash your wet hair? Any document you meant to send has yet to
reach me. The untied parcel service never delivered. I regret to say I’m
unable to reply to your unexpressed desires. I didn’t get the book you sent.
By the way, my computer was stolen. Now I’m unable to process words. I
suffer from aphasia. I’ve just returned from Kenya and Korea. Didn’t you
get a card from me yet? What can I tell you? I forgot what I was going to
say. I still can’t find a pen that works and then I broke my pencil. You know
how scarce paper is these days. I admit I haven’t been recycling. I never
have time to read the Times. I’m out of shopping bags to put the old news
in. I didn’t get to the market. I meant to clip the coupons. I haven’t read
the mail yet. I can’t get out the door to work, so I called in sick. I went to
bed with writer’s cramp. If I couldn’t get back to writing, I thought I’d catch
up on my reading. Then Oprah came on with a fabulous author plugging
her best selling book.
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I don't have much to report from my Sunday that's any more exciting that my report on Saturday. Adam is feeling much better, which is good news; he ate fairly normally albeit cautiously all day, and we are hoping for his sake that the schools are delayed for the weather we're supposed to get in the early morning hours so he can sleep in. He even came out to Target with us, where I bought an organizer for the closet (the cardboard one had finally disintegrated) and lost a bracelet when the clasp somehow came loose. The rest of the afternoon was spent assembling a lamp and moving clothing into the new organizer.
We watched the SAG Awards, including the red carpet show, which was a long slog for a brief glimpse of Russell Crowe and Hugh Jackman. I don't have super-strong opinions about who should be winning the acting trophies (I love all the Oscar frontrunners, Day-Lewis, Lawrence, Jones, Hathaway, though I love many of their competitors too). But I think Spielberg and Lee were robbed by the DGA and Producer's Guild even if Affleck was deprived of an Oscar nomination he probably deserved; I have a bunch of issues with Argo's screenplay, which jumps the shark when action movie cliches start overtaking the historical drama.
Since I have no thrilling new weekend photos, here instead are photos of the Band Kamp van, which lives on top of the Art Warehouse building on Randolph Road and. Band Kamp offers music lessons and recording opportunities for kids and has facilities that can be rented for parties and private concerts. I just love looking up and seeing all the hippie colors.
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