Blogging later in the day again. I slept in a bit. Eileen has left again. I’m writing at about 9:30 AM. She has gone to the Farmers Market and then plans to go blueberry picking. It’s a good thing she chose today to go, because the farm where she plans to pick has notified people that today is the last day for this sort of picking. She has been talking about this ever since getting back from the Hatch cabin where she and other family members picked huckleberries.

I am listening to Bartok’s Concerto for Orchestra. I checked with my record collection to find out what recording I have been listening to for years. It turns out it’s the Herbert Von Karajan one.

It’s on Spotify and Youtube.

It’s funny how you get used to a recording of a work. It’s almost as if a composition slowly changes into or adds attributes of a “sonic sculpture.”

Incidentally, I recently read a foosebooger post by my old friend, Jonathon Fegel, where he used the phrase, “sonic sculpture.” It made me smile. I’m pretty sure he got this phrase from our discussions years ago when we saw more of each other.

I was recently looking for Garry Trudeau’s prescient take on the Donald published over a decade ago. I was browsing at the library, discovering that Trudeau was not shelved with the other “comics.’ Then I spotted some beautiful books on the shelf.  

Mark happened to be nearby. I asked him if he recognized the author, Lynd Ward. Neither he nor I did. I checked out the library copy of the books because of their beauty and the fact that they were edited by Art Spiegelman.

It turns out the two volumes are Ward’s collected opus of six wordless graphic novels. All of the pictures are wood cuts. Wow. Wonderful stuff.

Mark was so impressed with the books he ordered some very low priced used copies. They are cool.