Today's been an unusually cold day so far. I was forced to spend a few extra minutes this morning warming up my car & scraping ice from the windows. I finally finished the Emily Dickinson book & have moved on to one about Marcel Proust, who was a few decades younger than she. He was, of course, yet another literary oddball. Like Dickinson_she was at least a very definite maybe about this_he was a homosexual. Also like her, he was more than a little on the religiously lopsided side. It appears that all creative characters have all sorts of obnoxious setbacks to have to contend with. Uncle Frankie came over for a while each day of the weekend. It's good to see that he's not always stranded at home anymore with his medical problems. Today, though, the librarian's home sick. The St. Jude novena is over. One day, Fr. Polmounter showed up. That was good. He used to be their pastor.
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