Things have been nothing if not hectic lately. I sold my house in a little over a week to the fourth person who looked at it. It just passed a very thorough home inspection yesterday, though there’s still a number of small things I’ve promised to fix around here before I’m ready to turn the house over on the 19th of September.
Despite a frantic second look at houses in Tacoma this weekend, Leslie and I could not agree on a house. Not surprisingly, since our outlook on homes seems to be quite different. and prices in Tacoma are as outrageously high as the demand, with houses disappearing from the market in a day or two.
We have another appointment at 9:00 tomorrow to look at a home in Tacoma. That will necessitate driving up tonight, if we can find a child at home who will house us and the dog, otherwise we will need to make a round trip tomorrow, driving up before nine and returning by noon so that Leslie can get back to work and finish up everything that needs to be done there.
I’ve also promised a posting on The Grapes of Wrath for a political web site starting up early next week. I’ve been running over ideas in my head just before going to sleep at night, a habit unlikely to engender a decent night’s sleep. I still need to re-read the novel, though, and I’m wondering how I’m going to find the time to do that.
Meanwhile, I am continuing to read The Collected Poetry of Robert Penn Warren in an attempt to post to this site later today. Despite the fact that I loved Warren’s later poetry, I’m beginning to remember why I didn’t finish Warren’s All the King’s Men years ago, one of only three books that I’ve started in my lifetime and was unable to finish, the others being a famous, but ungodly long Russian novel by Tolstoy, and that classic anti-slavery novel by what’s-her-name that apprarently started the Civil War, showing that lousy literature is probably much more popular and influential than good literature will ever be. Small wonder some idiot wants to give the Nobel Prize in literature to the author of the Harry Potter series. Give me a break!!
I didn’t discover Robert Penn Warren’s poetry until relatively late in his career, and I think that’s a good thing because so far I’m not too fond of his early poetry, which seems to me a cross between Edgar Alan Poe and T.S. Eliot, though, according to Bloom, his favorite English poet was supposedly my favorite English poet, Thomas Hardy.