Dear Sprouts;
Well, we made quite an exotic lunch today. Soba noodles with quail eggs, and Japanese potato salad with seaweed and pickled ginger. The soba noodles turned out great; I will be adding them to my repertoire of standard Torkildson fare.
We went shopping this afternoon. The Great American Pastime. Garments for me, and something called a Ninja Magic for your mother. It makes smoothies.
It has otherwise been a lazy day. We slept in until 7:30 a.m. The urologist I saw 2 weeks ago gave me some medicine called Nocdurna, which suppresses the urge to urinate at night. So I’m sleeping a bit better and longer lately.
I’ve been thinking about the happiness that comes from silence. At least it comes to me when I stay silent and surround myself with silence. So here’s a poem about the subject:
Silence is gilded for bozos like me;
A muted existence can make a man free.
Whenever I shoot off my mouth it doth seem
It makes others burn up from some laser beam.
I may have opinions and feelings real strong;
But it would be smart if I just sang a song.
Or better yet just remain silent and smug;
Smile with a head shake and maybe a shrug.
In my brown recliner I love to lay back
And relish the noise and the racket I lack.
Tumult is not a state I would endorse;
I’d rather just mime it, not yell myself hoarse.
So let others posit as much as they please;
Give their advice and opinions with ease.
Me for the quiet life – no scuttlebutt!
At long last I’m learning just how to shut up!
I guess that’s all for today, mine heirs. As soon as your mother finishes watching “Dial M for Murder,” we’re off to the Rec Center for 20 minutes of stationary cycling. After that, who knows? Maybe go bowling . . .
Love,
Heinie Manush.
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