Domestic, Foreign

Troubling though unsurprising headline from foxnews.com: “Brain scans of coronavirus patients suggest ‘significant’ grey matter loss over time.”

I made a few additions and changes to the Word file of Class of ’67, my novella. I’d been contemplating a few perhaps as long ago as a day after it went live. I mention many people I’ve met while doing the curbside book shop, using only first names. Two were thrilled. Marie no longer speaks to me, so this morning I changed the character’s name to Marcy. She was hurt that I referred to her as “tiny” and that I said her art work was in a “minor” gallery. To a non-artist such as myself, minor is anything that isn’t in a place such as the Met, MOMA or the Guggenheim. I won’t tell her about the change unless she asks. From my perspective, her reaction is silly. I changed Alice to Agnes because someone who knew her from AA thought it was a violation of the code of anonymity. I changed Noemi, who expressed worry about cognitive difficulties, to Naomi, fearful she would object to an airing of something so personal. Fortunately, when I reconnected with her recently for the first time since pre-pandemic, she seemed fine, but I doubt she’s doing much reading these days. She’d said it had become difficult. I’d regretted omitting two lovely emigrants from the narrative, Laura and Mira (pronounced Meera), and added them. I’m pretty sure I’d corrected the grammatical error I’d found during the final proof read, recalling that it was amended in the Kindle version, but it is unwise to rely on memory for such things at this stage of my life, so I’ll have to reread the book before I resubmit the file. It’s a relief to know the problems will eventually be history.

I’m not comfortable having gay-themed books, even Ginsberg’s, on display at my curbside shop. Today I planned to give one to a guy who has given me a lot of books, many used by his late mom, an elementary school teacher. I wasn’t sure how to approach it, given the hypersensitivity of the era. Instead of just handing it to him and saying it might interest him, I took the cowardly path and said “I’ve been holdin’ this for you.” Fortunately, he was happy with it. As for the rest of the session, it was highlighted by another delivery of DVDs by Ann, almost every one very popular in its time, at least 20 total. My thanks, and to the kind folks who combined to buy six books in Russian, and to the young woman who pointed at a paperback of The Shining by Stephen King and uttered a charming phrase I’ve heard so many times: “How much deece?” She was thrilled to get it for a buck.

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