Note: I made an error in yesterday's post. I referred to the New Vic Theater in London. It's not the New Vic. It's called the Young Vic.
1. I was getting myself ready to go on a drive. I was thinking of heading west without a set plan. As I was about to gather myself and get going, I got a call from the sprinkler system guy saying he'd be coming by in the afternoon to blow out our system -- I have this done every fall. I like to be home when he does this job, so I put my wanderings on hold and rolled up the eaves over three of the house's windows, cleaned the kitchen, and made a short grocery list. Late in the afternoon, the sprinkler guy answered a text I sent him. His compressor broke down. He had to take it to the shop. He told me he'd blow out the sprinkler system next time he's in the Silver Valley. I thought that must have been a real pain in the neck for him and responded with a "no problem" note. It's not an urgent job. It'll get done. Not wandering paid off for me. I got a few things done that I wouldn't have otherwise.
2. This morning, I watched Thursday's Billy Collins Poetry Broadcast and this evening I watched the show he broadcast a few hours earlier. I enjoyed the poems he read, but, even more, I enjoyed that Billy Collins played the soothing, mellow saxophone playing of Ben Webster, a jazz musician I had never paid attention to before Billy Collins played a cut or two of his silky sounds.
3. I dreamed I was at a major golf tournament and the great CBS/ABC scholarly sportscaster, Jack Whitaker, was in the gallery wearing an ivy cap, also known as a Ben Hogan cap. He was retired, still alive in my dream (he died in 2019), and, in my dream, when someone later asked me who that old guy was, I tried to answer, but started crying so hard I couldn't finish my sentence. I loved Jack Whitaker that much. For the rest of the night, I dreamed up commentaries in the style of Jack Whitaker, commentaries about everything from Jack Nicklaus to the job I did today cleaning up the kitchen.
A limerick by Stu: