Quarantining, pt. 3
I’m glad to report that vol. 1 of the Strangers and Brothers omnibus has been delivered. So now I have the set.
In vol. 1’s preface, C.P. Snow says that this is the series’s definitive edition: the order of the books and some of the language have been corrected. I’m pleased about this and about the lovely typesetting done in Monotype Ehrhardt.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
I must read at least six more books this month to meet my yearly quota. I’m finishing the short books I’ve already begun, like H.G. Wells’s Invisible Man.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Infection-wise, Karin & I remain symptomless.
Samuel is much better, though he’s taken to squawking most of the day, like a pterodactyl. He hates to drink his medicine.
His urine is uninfected, the doctor says. Now we await the result of his COVID-19 test.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
A masked man delivered a pizza to our house. He noticed the t-shirt I was wearing.
“Did you go to ——— High School?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But I did work there some years ago. And it’s where my wife attended.”
“I went there,” he told me. “Class of 1990.”
“Well, then, you’re ten years older than I am.”
“You’re thirty-eight?”
“That’s right. I wouldn’t have guessed you were so old.”
“Thank you!” he said.
“Well, you are wearing a mask.”
In this lonely time, I think people just want other people to talk to.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
One of our extroverted former pastors is using Zoom to set up 45-minute video conferences so that his friends can talk to him. Today, Karin & I had a conference with him to show him our new son.
I reminded him that he said he’d take me out for coffee once I completed the Ph.D.
Several other people have made similar promises. It gives me a perverse pleasure to remind them during this quarantining time. (Right now, of course, my claims are unenforceable.)
In vol. 1’s preface, C.P. Snow says that this is the series’s definitive edition: the order of the books and some of the language have been corrected. I’m pleased about this and about the lovely typesetting done in Monotype Ehrhardt.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
I must read at least six more books this month to meet my yearly quota. I’m finishing the short books I’ve already begun, like H.G. Wells’s Invisible Man.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
Infection-wise, Karin & I remain symptomless.
Samuel is much better, though he’s taken to squawking most of the day, like a pterodactyl. He hates to drink his medicine.
His urine is uninfected, the doctor says. Now we await the result of his COVID-19 test.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
A masked man delivered a pizza to our house. He noticed the t-shirt I was wearing.
“Did you go to ——— High School?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “But I did work there some years ago. And it’s where my wife attended.”
“I went there,” he told me. “Class of 1990.”
“Well, then, you’re ten years older than I am.”
“You’re thirty-eight?”
“That’s right. I wouldn’t have guessed you were so old.”
“Thank you!” he said.
“Well, you are wearing a mask.”
In this lonely time, I think people just want other people to talk to.
♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦
One of our extroverted former pastors is using Zoom to set up 45-minute video conferences so that his friends can talk to him. Today, Karin & I had a conference with him to show him our new son.
I reminded him that he said he’d take me out for coffee once I completed the Ph.D.
Several other people have made similar promises. It gives me a perverse pleasure to remind them during this quarantining time. (Right now, of course, my claims are unenforceable.)