The hot season having arrived, this morning I migrated my morning coffee drinking out to the porch, sitting in the rocking chair and listening to the howling of a strong wind. Where does such a wind come from? It seems out of place. As such the temperature is mild on the porch.
As I drink my coffee I pick up the copy of George Saunders short stories that arrived from Thriftbooks a couple days ago, and which I placed on the patio table just for thisv ery moment.. I think it came from Thriftbooks, at least. One loses track. I bought it alongside a copy of The Complete Stories of Flannery O'Connor. The latter I started last night before bed, reading "The Geranium," which turns out to have been her first published story, written at the Iowa Writer's Workshop in 1946. I completed it all before falling asleep, which is an accomplishment for me, as often reading knocks me out right away. I liked her description of the main character's image of New York City before he went to live there with his daughter. It reminded me of the kind of image I had had of that place before I went to live there and experience it first hand.
George Saunders---I have a close friend, or formerly close friend, in Portland who loves George Saunders. He has read all of his works and eagerly awaits new ones. Or least he did as of the last time I checked. I know this from his social media posts back when I was on social media.
I have this idea that I read George Saunders I will understand my friend's mentality more and maybe we can be friends again. So I bought Saunders collection CivilWarLand in Bad Decline. This morning over coffee I read the title story, which was a little over twenty pages.
My friend is a voracious reader, though, so who knows what I'll learn about, when I see him. Probably many authors I've never heard of. I look forward to that.
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