A bit of this and that

Two Elmer Kelton titles keep going through my mind. The first is his classic novel of the 1950s drought, The Time It Never Rained. More apropos now is the article titled, “The Time It Always Rained.” Today I don’t know which one applies. We were supposed to have rain, but it was sunny and pretty. Now I hear it’s going to hit at two o’clock in the morning. And rain all day tomorrow. Today Houston was hit again, and I have texted to ask about my kids in Tomball, northwest of Houston.

A saying about the rain that I loved and stole from local sage, Tom James, who runs for Fort Worth Memories and History page on Facebook: “The humidity just suddenly burst into rain.”

And going back further in time, this from Galileo: “Wine is sunlight held together by water.”

Yesterday I wrote 443 pages of dreck and was most discouraged. Today I wrote 1500 words of what I think (and hope) is good copy, and I’m feeling more confident about the new project. I may finally have the voice where I want it. At least it’s a good start. And I feel that old, familiar compulsion to make every minute count for the project at hand. My kind of fun.

Tonight I am both alarmed and amused by trump’s antics in the UK. I do feel that the media watches like a hawk for a chance to catch him in the slightest mis-step, and in England he made several of them, that gosh-awful tux not being the least. I can’t bring myself to feel sorry for him, because he brings his grief on himself. But a part of me wonders if he is even capable of recognizing that. Does he really believe that those huge crowds were cheering for him? Is he in denial?

I watched the press conference where he and Theresa May took questions. He read his opening remarks in a mechanical fashion, without inflection. When I mentioned that to friend Mary last night, she said, “At least he can still read.” Missing her point, I said, “Well I suppose they deliberately used small words that he could handle.” And she repeated, “At least he can still read.” Then she added, “He soon won’t be able to,” and I saw where she was headed. She believes, as many of us suspect, that he is in the early to medium stages of dementia, losing what they call “executive ability”—the ability to manage our own lives on a daily basis. Reading, writing, thinking clearly, even dressing ourselves. I do think it’s time for an impartial assessment of his cognitive abilities. I had a dear friend some years back who was diagnosed with “mild cognitive impairment,” and he made a lot more sense than much of what trump says.

Today he told the prime minister of Ireland that he liked the millions of Irish living in America and added, “I know most of them.” Out of touch with reality—and scary for us.