Sunday, November 22, 2020

Paul now works during the day on Saturday, so with some open time to ourselves Tom and I decided to spend the morning together at Higgins Beach in Scarborough (pictured at the top of this blog). It was a beautiful mild day . . . surfers were tumbling in and out of the waves, dog parties raced in circles on the sand, a little two-year-old boy shed all of his clothes and trotted back and forth after his older brothers. Imagine: butt-naked at the beach, in November, in Maine. I found a lovely bouquet of seaweed, which I brought home to dry. In David Copperfield, which I've started rereading for the many-hundredth time, small David spends the night in Mr. Peggotty's houseboat, in a little room with a bouquet of seaweed in a blue mug. That's what I want in my room now.

David has been a joy again, as always. Thinking about Pip (of Great Expectations) and David, those two exquisitely drawn boys-to-men: in a way they're forks of the same character. David, so innocent and trusting, so devoted to anyone who has been kind to him, so easily manipulated. And Pip, trying to shed his past, trying to pretend that he no longer needs it, trying to be what he is not.

Today I'm going to go for a walk with a friend; then I'm going to make some book paste and repair some old hardcovers; and then I'm going to start working on the comic books I'm drawing for my nephews for Christmas. In the meantime, Tom and Paul are planning to take down a couple of teenage maple trees that are encroaching on our shed. They've been waiting for exactly the right time to do it: leaves gone, no snow, garden boxes empty (because they'll have to drop them directly into the Lane).  Looks like today is the day. 

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