A newspaper, silly.
My daughter suggested that as I had not logged onto my blog, nor written a post in a week or so, and some friends had expressed concern, I should say hello. This is harder than you think. Although the meds I am taking include hydrocodone, and are not strong, I am weak am feeling iffy sitting here at the computer.
Besides, heaven knows what I may say. I felt well enough yesterday to have a political argument with my daughter, only later to discover that we agree about most things like not sending any money to Hamas and supporting Israel whole heartedly. I wish Bebe Netanyahu was my president.
Later, I read Connie the last passage from Middlemarch and began crying. Thinking about it now makes me cry more. The BBC production is schmaltzy and not like the book. The English language in the book is fabulous. I have the “little red readers” used in the school system in England until the Fifties, I think. I bought my books in England.
Elliot, or more properly Mary Ann Evans, is one of the best English-speaking writers to have ever lived, and when I was in High School, she was required reading. God knows what they teach kids these days. Connie with an advanced degree in English had not heard of Elliot before. I suggested Austen and Elliot are the bookends of nineteenth-century English literature.
Later, when I can spend more time at the computer, I will write more about this horrific surgery and its aftermath. But I leave you with this thought…the doc saws your leg in half. All I could think about were those sailors and soldiers, sometime referred to as Jack Tar, who lost a leg in the nineteenth century and wonder how in God’s name any of them survived. Nelson didn’t. The British Navy brought his body back in a barrel of port wine. Today, vendors and others sell a red wine in Gibraltar known as Nelson’s blood.