You know what I love? The word "actually," when little kids say it. Sometime around age 3 3/4 to 4 1/4, little kids tend to start prefacing their explanations with "actually." This is funny enough on its own, but it's even better when they pronounce it "ackchully."
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You know what I don't love? The nightly thunderstorms this week, which are seriously affecting my swimming schedule.
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I feel like I should try to dress better. I mean, I try to look neat and appropriate for the occasion, but that's as far as it goes. But then I see someone who has taken extra care with their appearance, and they* look so nice, that I think that I should make the extra effort and take the extra time to make a better impression.
As with everything, it comes down to time. I have all the time in the world to pound out utter drivel on this blog, but not enough time, apparently, to take a few extra minutes to find some jewelry or an accessory, or something that would make me look more stylish and pulled-together.
And there's money, too. Clothes and shoes and accessories cost money, and I find that I'm willing to spend money on almost anything else. Like my 20-year-old couch, for example. It's a very comfortable, hardwood-frame couch that will probably outlast humankind, only the cushions and slipcover need to be replaced. So that's where my clothing budget for the next few months will be spent. The couch will be better dressed than me. On the other hand, it will have to wear the same outfit, every day, likely for the rest of its life.
*I have revised my position on use of the singular "they," which I hereby deem acceptable.
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I'm not sure how robust my annual reading list will be this year. I'm quite a bit behind last year's pace, and I don't see myself catching up any time soon. I just finished Beryl Bainbridge's A Quiet Life. It's apparently based loosely on her own life in postwar Britain. The story is told from the point of view of the older brother of a wild teenage girl who is having a secret affair with a German POW. The boy's family is miserably unhappy, and although the book is beautifully written, and short, it still took me ten days to slog through it. Well, I'm also reading another book at the same time, but a short novel is usually a faster read for me. I had never read Beryl Bainbridge before, and probably won't read any more of her work. Too depressing. She is almost as misanthropic as Evelyn Waugh, and not nearly as funny.
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And why am I even worried about maintaining last year's reading pace anyway? I'm not that competitive, but I am goal-oriented. And I'm competitive sometimes, too. Swimming again, for example. I'm not very fast at all, but I can go all day. Just the opposite of running, for which I have near-zero endurance (and I'm also a slow runner, so maybe "just the opposite" isn't quite right. Maybe "somewhat the opposite" would be somewhat more accurate). I was swimming laps one night last week, and a neighborhood man, who is older than me, but fit--I see him running all the time--started to swim laps in the lane next to me. He had to stop to rest after every length of the pool, and he complimented my endurance. I modestly dismissed his praise; after all, as I explained, I'm a truly terrible runner who can barely cover a block without stopping to rest. But I was secretly pleased that I was better than someone--anyone--at something athletic.
The man got out of the pool after 5 or 6 laps, and I kept going. Another older person, a Russian lady who reminds me of Raisa Gorbachev, took his place. She and her husband, whose names I don't know, are frequent swimmers. We say hello and smile at one another, but I've never really spoken to them. Her endurance is better than the running man's, but I'm faster than she is. A lot faster. So even though she's at least 10 years my senior, I can't help but enjoy beating her pace and swimming past her, and turning before she's even 5 meters from the wall. It's a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Eat my bubbles, Mrs. Gorbachev.
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As usual, I have no idea how I ended up getting from there to here. I started by writing about some of my favorite things, and "actually" was first on my list. Then I got distracted.
But this post is kind of about some of my favorite things. Like swimming. And books. And grammar. And trash talking about old people. OK, not the last one. But the other three, for sure. Books, swimming, and grammar really are some of my favorite things, actually.
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