Okay, so soon no one will be able to
read the Constitution – or for that matter, sign their name – since cursive is
no longer being taught.
And I wonder if in a few years anyone will be able to compose a simple paragraph without help, now with all those bots eager to pitch in.
I proved to myself again the wisdom of not feeding the addiction. It’s hard to remember now how it got started again – I just know that I fell deeper and deeper without even realizing it.
What a truly odd day.
After a pleasantly slow start – tea, toast, reading – I put on my yoga togs and prepared to leave. As I opened the door leading to the garage, I managed to bang my big toe – my bad toe that was already having iffy nail issues after stubbing it two days before. Blood ensued, but I slapped on a band-aid, put on my sandals, and headed into the garage.
Ages ago – and I mean ages – and in another life, I was at the local Milton Bradley factory taping a brief clip of the production lines. It was a segment for a small cable children’s show that I produced and shot with a friend.
I have made progress in life, really. I’m no longer spreading newspapers on the kitchen floor, spraying caustic, lye-based, skin-searing cleaner into my oven, and then 20 minutes later on my hands and knees with my bright yellow rubber gloves (and breath held) wiping that cleaner out with 1,000 paper towels.
On Sunday I met my partner-in-pottery-crime to try out the pottery studio in my town. It’s a brand-new venture, run by two young women who started from different places, but they seem to have melded together successfully as business partners.
