#NewThisDay Writing From My Photo Stream

November Charles

Frank gone in the early hours to his morning meeting. I get up more leisurely. Sunday and a red sky for dawn. Still have not had to put the heat on. House is quiet. Tonight, we will have dinner at dark. I have my walk, and my swim, and then I drive to the Cape to see my sister and her husband’s new home. After decades, they have relocated to West Barnstable. It’s November, and a quick ride this time of year. It’s thrilling to see them in a dream place, making a new home near the ocean on a charming street just off the highway. I am so happy for them. It’s sunny, we take a short ride to a nearby beach, and I see how wonderful their new life will be there. I listen, in the car on the drive there and back, to Alexei Navalny’s new memoir, Patriot. Just finished Jayne Ann Phillip’s Night Watch, which I really liked. Found myself feeling a little dread about reading Navalny’s book, in translation, of course. But as soon as I began listening I was enthralled. He is so alive. And it was the grief about his murder, the fact of his unjust, untimely murder, that made me feel the dread. Listening, I mostly forgot that he isn’t alive. That’s unusual for a memoir, at least those I’ve read, current ones. Not usually published posthumously. So, it’s intelligent and intriguing and full of passion and brilliance. Home for dinner with the family in front of the fire. Franci made chicken soup and homemade bread. I made pasta and a salad. We lingered for Sunday dinner with conversation about many things, in particular, the election, discussing some of the ballot measures, debating how we’ll vote. Actually, my son already did. But the rest of us will go in person on Tuesday to cast our votes for the same presidential choice. Wave home, was absolutely delighted to hear about Fudgy’s breach into the kitchen yesterday during his absence from home. He is terribly excited it will happen again while he’s home.