July 21st, 2015

The Bricklayer's Boy

In reading about the early modern playwrights it is clear that they were in and out of each other’s lives, rivals, collaborators, friends. And this was the time when writing for a living really began as a thing. (Of course being able to lay bricks is useful too.) Here we have the oldest and youngest of that group, caught for a moment that I would like to think happened. Kyd would probably have used ‘thou’ to a child. But I felt that it was a little distracting so I stuck with ‘you.’

I wish we could reach this brown eyed boy, and say ‘It is all going to be fine. You got plenty of writing done.’

    The Bricklayer’s Boy

I got up to answer the door. The rapping sounded brisk and certain. I came with a scowl ready, barefoot, torn from my ale and the capture of the first pure words that come with morning. Well. They were gone now; blown away into the ragged fog and the steaming streets. I was quite ready to argue that I owed no man money. Nor had I seen anyone do anything curious. Not recently, not ever.

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A number of things make a post

Today continues hot. I am feeling much much better though.

Just as well, I had to drive into Manhattan today as daughter had forgotten everything she needed at work. (Money, tampax, and her pills.) I have an aunt of the WWii era who was married at 17. I myself cannot imagine it. 17 is so obviously not fully fledged. Daughter still needs things from me for now.

So I drove over the Brooklyn Bridge, over the Ari Halberstam memorial onramp. (I looked Ari Halberstam up once-- it sounds like an old man's name, but he was a young guy who got in a bike accident there.) And I went down along Houstan st, to the Lower East Side. Summer plumage in the city today, and everyone  very busy. I love how you can see everyone having their own things to do, everyone looks so determined. I always wonder where they are all going. It is like looking at the lighted windows of the city at night and thinking 'every window is a person, with their own inner life that I will never know.' Sondor, right?

It occurs to me that if a person from the 16 to 18th century could see a shirtless man on a bike they would assume he was some sort of criminal condemed to pedal a humiliating device while shamfully exposed with no shirt. We just think it is sports. We are all running around in our underwear!!

Daaughter came and got her supplies. She can subway home. They have pitched their mural design and had it approved. It is being blocked out, and they are getting some art classes in the meantime. That is great. She had to choose all year between gym , band, and art. When I was a kid everyone got all three. She ended up with Latin dance and her sax. No visual art at all. So this makes up for that, and she is getting paid a little too.

Back at home I went swimming. Water was delicious, warmer than it ever gets further north. Now I really should go and make some food happen.

Two more random things

1, Donald Trump lacks a conscience. I do not. mean he is a murderer. I mean that he does and says what he wishes without considering others. I am not the least bit worried he will get close to elected. And he may serve to siphon the radical ugly energy from the GOP. They are distancing themselves from him as fast as they can.As well they should.


2. On the vent hood of my kitchen stove I have two little figures. One is Egon from the ghostbusters, the other Is William Howard Taft. They stand companiably together and watch me cook.  I realized last week that it is likely that I am the only person on earth with those guys together in my kitchen.