Joining the sharks off the coast of Florida recently was a Russian navy flotilla on its way to Cuba. According to today’s Herald, this one was distinguished by a nuclear submarine. Meanwhile, in Moscow, Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich was officially accused of spying for the CIA. I’m not an alarmist, but it’s hard to be an optimist as long as Putin is alive.
In this week of anniversaries, I’m flying to Philadelphia this afternoon so tomorrow morning I can take the Paoli Local (though it probably has a different name now) to Villanova to attend my 50th college reunion.
Back here next Tuesday.
Around 5:30 yesterday two young women in bikinis walked past Trinity Cathedral in Miami. Inside, moments later, the Anglican chorale sang the music of Thomas Tallis. It was evensong, a beautiful service and, in my opinion, the most beautiful word in the English language.
Flying to DC last Thursday I recalled that it was 50 years ago (this summer) that I moved to the city after my college graduation. Riding from the airport to our hotel, we passed the restaurant where my roommate’s father and uncle, both successful Washingtonians, had taken me to lunch shortly after my arrival and asked me where I saw myself five years hence. I had had no good answer for them, and felt very small. Sitting in the taxi I thought: Now it’s 50 years later and I’m getting the Amicus Poloniae award from the Polish ambassador on Friday and speaking at the Arts Club of Washington on Sunday.
Perfect Days has less dialogue than any film I've seen in decades and it has stayed with me longer than most of them. It's about a man who cleans public toilets in Tokyo and lives a very contented life. And it's made me appreciate life’s everyday beauty - while inspiring me to clean my bathroom. The other day, seeing the cleaning woman in our corridor, I found my reflexive pity tempered, slightly, but the thought, the hope, that she may take pleasure in her work.
And now what? No eclipse. No Curb. No Masters.
Oh, yes - the Trump trial!