Saturday, August 28, 2010

Last night and this morning I have been absorbed by reading (at Wikipedia, et. al) about Sturm und Drang (Storm and Urge, or, Storm and Stress) and I have also poked my overly-inquisitive nose into the dark and formidable entrance-hole to the perilous pit of Faust written by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.

Also, this lead me to research The Enlightenment (The Age of Enlightenment or simply The Enlightenment is the era in Western philosophy and intellectual, scientific and cultural life, centered upon the eighteenth century, in which reason was advocated as the primary source for legitimacy and authority.) to refresh my weakening memory.

Ha! And this from a simple, homespun and grizzled old curmudgeon who is much enamored of the works of Thomas Harris. How long this new endeavor will hold fascination for me is hard to tell.

. . .

On last night's Eva walk, Mike called my attention to a hawk perched on the stucco wall before the front entrance to a neighborhood home, and I quickly took a couple of pictures of it. Then Mike snapped two additional shots of it, with my camera. One of his snaps caught the bird in a wings-spread pose, but wouldn't you know that this was the one photo of the bunch that was not saved onto the camera's memory card. That happens sometimes with my little Canon Power Shot A510 and I don't know why.

As in life, sometimes unexplained things apparently just happen.

Best Photo Of Three

Tucson, AZ 8/27/2010

. . .

This website refurbishment is weighing on my mind to a somewhat frightening degree. Should I delete the entire site and start anew or merely add and subtract selected items? The long ignored Online Daily Journal has got to go. It will remain on my hard drive and on my Cruzer memory stick, but will no longer appear online. The brief bio will stay. The links page and the section wherein lie some of my unpublished (and quite badly written) stories and poems will remain, as will the link to the Writers Photo Album. But the rest will have to go.

Refurbishment is a time-consuming process. And I am seventy-one years old. Ah well, this can be a convenient excuse for not having time for authoring a novel or writing new short stories.

Hm. Self-analysis really sucks.

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