Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Some days I cannot see the future. I doubt that I can be self-sufficient ever again. I fret; despite Bob's Herculean efforts these last three months the store has not generated enough income to cover its costs. Worse, I feel helpless; I simply haven't the energy to hop into clothes and head for The Bare Wall to assist with the problem . . . When I was a little chap I envied Robert Louis Stevenson. I had learned that as a boy the Scottish author had been confined to bed by illness for a long time. I thought then that it would be marvelous to laze and do nothing but read day after day. Now that I have that opportunity I find that filling those endless hours with books, puzzles, the Net and TV is not as attractive as it sounds. Nothing can substitute for interaction with other people . . . The sun came out briefly at noon. I was able to totter half a block up the street. Daffodils were in bloom and iris and tulips were in bud—a promise that life goes on. It was warm, too—warmer than inside as is so often the case at this time of year . . . Things looked a bit brighter and the foggy future wasn't so distant . . .