scrambled thoughts, from not reading I guess

by Andrea Elizabeth

I’ve not been able to pick up a book these past few weeks. Instead I’ve been making Pysanky and watching PBS and baseball. Monday night’s American Experience of the Indians has left me heart-broken. Such a waste of humanity and land.

My second to youngest just turned sweet 16. I don’t consider that a debutante age, but a very in-between one. The Ultimate Cupcakes we partook of for the occasion are just that. I’m not going to weigh myself.

To break my non-reading spell, I’ll now pick up a book next to me and randomly point to a page. It is page 309 of Kierkegaard’s Either/Or.

But how may things look in is own head? Just as he has led others astray, so he, I think, will end by going astray himself. He has led the others astray not in the external sense but in the interior sense with respect to themselves. There is something shocking about a person’s directing a hiker, uncertain of his way, to the wrong path and then abandoning him in his error; but what is that compared with causing a person to go astray within himself. The lost hiker still has the consolation that the scenery is continually changing around him, and with every change there is fostered a hope of finding a way out. He who goes astray within himself does not have such a large territory in which to move; he soon perceives that it is a circle from which he cannot find an exit.

I like the positive spin he puts on the hiker’s situation. All six of the Shiner Bock beer I purchased for Friday night’s deciding win of the American League Championships were drunk by the four boys, the youngest of which is 17 and did not like any of it, but he finished it just the same, and George and me. That’s never happened before. It was a fun night despite local channels not carrying the games. I spent $10 to see the web cast on which cut out every now and then, but we got to see the important parts. George just got a new antenna to improve our reception of Fox/Channel 4 so that we can catch the World Series. For some reason Channel 4 gets scrambled into pretty confetti every 30 seconds. You have to change channels and come back when that happens. Hopefully we’ll have the new antenna up before tomorrow night – but it’s getting dark by the time George comes home, so I don’t know. I’ll try to finish Dr. Bradshaw’s book before I read any more Kierkegaard. And then there’s Don Quixote too.