Wednesday, July 07, 2010


Working hard again (and I know I am not alone: most of the world works hard and indeed, most of the country takes far less time off than I do). From dawn until my eyes refuse to focus. I am redoing some of the material for my classes (you cannot teach in the same way year in and year out and still walk in to a class with excitement, and I cannot teach at all if I am not excited), at the same time that I have a daily teaching schedule that is in full swing.

A spell like this makes me feel so distracted and one-dimensional. A friend asked last night – did you notice how grand it is to sometimes just do errands?? Sad to say, I did not.

Today, to break the dreary trend of morning hours on the computer, I went out early to shop at the “other” farmers market (the twice a week one two blocks away, as opposed to the Saturday one across the street). The vibes there are somewhat different, but the foods are good and the vendors as solicitous and therefore charming as anywhere.

the perennial flower seller

the fruit and veggie seller

she had superb string beans

the salsa girls

It struck me today, at the market, that I ought to recreate some of the Mediterranean salads that I would throw together for supper in Sorede. Even as I know that when the time comes to “throw” something together, I’ll have less zest for the project. In Sorede it was a vacation pleasure, here, amidst hours of work, it is merely a chore.

I have been letting myself walk home. At 3.5 miles, that’s a hefty spell of walking, but I’m not riding my bike (deflated tires and no time to pump them up), and after one sedentary day early this week, I'm determined not to give in to physical lethargy. Inaction makes me feel incapable of action.

Just as the ride along the lakeshore path offered a rather standard assortment of photographic moments, so, too, my walk up Bascom and down Observatory Drive puts me in the same places, offering the same photographic moments, day after day.

But you get an update: for instance, today, Lincoln wasn’t watching a man plant flowers at his feet. He was bouncing teens on his lap.


At the Centennial Gardens, I watched a gold fish weave her way among the stems in the pond. She seemed quite content.


At home, I make a modified salad ni├žoise (oh! the Banyuls vinegar is exquisite!). Is it a chore? Yes, but I admit, it is not entirely unpleasant.