Really bummed about the mugger taking my V.S. Pritchett...

...short stories. I was looking forward to every ride on the train when I could get lost in his worlds of the delusional, disappointed, desperate, dilatory, displaced and almost always at least mildly eccentric and comically perverse people immersed in the damp and foggy confines of middle class life in mid 20th century England.


I just happened to come across an article about him online yesterday in which the author pays tribute to the man who almost single-handedly brought distinction to the often unappreciated and undervalued art of the English short story. I’m hooked on the stuff and will probably be combing the shelves of the Mercantile Library this afternoon in search of more.




What’s been going through my head the most since last Thursday is the entire phenomenon (for want of a better word) of Fear. It’s such a primal force and such a powerful influence on so many things in life. And perhaps because this was on my mind while...



... scanning bookshelves at home looking for a replacement for Mr. Pritchett, I plucked out a medium size volume entitled “ A History of the Mind” by Nicholas Humphrey.

It’s a mostly non-technical and philosophical exploration of the topic and from what I’ve read so far, fairly engaging in an informal, though scientifically supported and disciplined way. It’s primarily focused on how the mind processes sensation and produces subjective perception and unlike a lot of current literature does not get into contemporary theories about neurological hard wiring and artificial intelligence and all the latest chemistry of the brain research. And I suspect somewhere along the line I’m going to encounter a discussion of Fear—so I’ll hang back and see if that helps to spark a more cogent discussion on my part and provides me with more elements of interest beyond the spontaneous speculations arising out of my single and purely subjective isolated experience last week.

My sister Debby wrote to me about the pleasure and privilege she had over the weekend of meeting and enjoying (in intimate and social surroundings) the musical magic of Edgar Meyer. I've been a fan since hearing his duets album with Bela Fleck and everything else I've heard is just as amazing. To me, he's like Richard Bona or Pablo Casals or Segovia in the sense that when you hear (or see) him, you get the feeling that the music is playing him more than the other way around. It's as if he is simply letting the music pass through him on it's way to your ears without any "middle-man" of effort or technical difficulty to get in the way. It's enough to make any other musician just forget about ever coming anywhere close. There's a ton to choose from online including a documentary about Meyer and his work with Bach--which if you close your eyes, sounds like a cello--with the addition of a thunderous low register. But this one here with Bela Fleck is fun. Edgar idles for first 1:30, but then he puts it in gear.