There was one of those big chalkboards on a stand---I'm remembering it as the kind you can flip over via the axis that meets the frame at the midpoint of each side of large rectangle, but I may be wrong about that part---and the speaker'd put up an outline of many points to be covered in the talk. And the talk began. He addressed the first point, and then addressed it some more, and then added more detail about the first point, and then expounded on those details, and added others, and perhaps digressed, and then mentioned some other things, still about the first point.
The sun went down. The speaker continued. It was all still about the first point. We were educated captive audience members; we knew which point he was on. We knew that time had gone by. That at least an hour had gone by. It was dark, and the speaker was still on the first point.
Talk about the palpable sense of rising mutual anxiety. I'm sure it was some form of irony. And I'd know exactly which one, and in painfully painstaking detail, if that subsection of the Universe of irony had been the subject of Point One. Or perhaps I wouldn't! Perhaps I'd block it entirely, as I seem to have blocked the subject of that lecture and the identity of the lecturer, and even how we got out of it. Probably someone stood up to say that the library was closing. Or who know. I just remember that outline, and have a certain amount of trepidation anytime a speaker puts up an outline of what we're going to be going through in the gathering that's just commenced. "Uh-oh...." my inner gut spirit child utters, while also immediately trying to calm herself and point out (succinctly) that that old traumatic experience is not the usual in these situations. But that doesn't mean we're not still a little scared, me and that inner guy spirit child. For we are.
We're even a little scared that way when planning to plunk up our own such outline!
Here's today's bow tie:
And the shot I sent the guys is
I have a lot more selfies now that I started sending pandemic shots of me in bow ties to my fellows.
That tie was the first reversible one I made. But I intend it, as the artist, to be tied with the flowers prominent, like this, and the green more like a stem.
Today the temperature was suddenly in the 80s, after only a few days that'd even gotten into the 70s here so far this year, and a recent spate of highs in the 50s. Next up is a bit of rain. But it's time to take the last two storm windows off. The ones that are harder to get to. One of which has my blue-light peace sign on it (which just looks like a glob of blue light, from down the street). (The toddler is aware of it; I saw her pointing at it and her dad saying something about yes, the blue light is on.) (It's always on, but only shows up when the sun's heading for its loop around the other half of the globe.)
My new windows won't have storm windows. They won't need them. They have layers of glass built in. So weird.
I kinda got the itch to upgrade one of my living room windows too, but talked myself down. Three is enough for now. There's a lot stlll needs doin' 'round here. But dang if I'm not making a little progress.