Calculus

Old School > (is less than) Old Hat > (is less than) Passe.

But the bald truth about this place right here  where your eyes landed is greater than the sum of all of those. It equals —it is — pretty close to useless.  There might have been a brief shining moment about ten years ago (about the time I wrote the first post on this site as a matter of fact) , when we weren’t  sure what a blog was actually for, but now we know.

It’s all about selling, of course!  How could we not have seen this?

So just to cut to the chase:  there’s nothing to see here, just move along.

Friends tell me there’s a Facebook group devoted  to the cares and frettings of women to the north of 40 —What Would Virginia Woolf Do? — and this is my cohort, for all that I’ve deactivated Facebook and can’t read it.

What would Virginia Woolf do?

My guess — she would either be scanning the ground for more and better stones with which to weigh down her pockets, or, and this is a pretty big or,  it would be the inverse of that, and she would be seeing the commonplace, the everyday, fringed with—radiating — joy.

At least, my Virginia Woolf would.

So here I sit.  The past few weeks, the offspring I once called Elder Girleen has been trying to absorb a year’s worth of Pre-Calculus.  (Online, of course.)  The lecturer’s voice is so sonorous, she might deserve an A just for staying awake. Using sines and cosines and such, she’s learning how to figure out how far a cruise ship is from a jetty (I think; I’m two rooms away.)

The trajectory I’m trying to calculate is othewise: from the skinned knees of one’s children to the long-term care insurance (or lack thereof) of one’s parents.

Nobody’ll pay you for that one.

 

 

 

 

One thought on “Calculus

  1. Hello, Kathy. I was thinking the other day that you hadn’t posting anything in a long time. I hope all is well with your family. One of our nieces has been living with us for three years now & shows no sign of moving out. My mother (92) is still living on her own but is very frail & has some dementia. I spend every afternoon at her apartment, with only 3 or 4 days off in the past year. Barbara is retiring in nine days, so changes of some sort are coming. I have been trying to read more “serious literature” before it is too late: Bloch, Mann, Musil, Joyce. I’ve read all the Knausgaard that has been translated, though that may be more like junk food. I would love to hear from you from time to time.

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