Another rain day

Good thing we got out yesterday for the walk as today has been rain since daybreak.   I know this because the Gypsy dog woke me up a 5am to go out in the rain so I just stayed up with my coffee. 

Before taking Jerry to his physical therapy I happened to see another daffodil open but it was hanging its head covered in raindrops.   So a daffodil photo again.  

In the extra is a black and white of the same daffodil.  There are now four open.   I promise no more daffodil photos this week!

Have started reading 1984.  The passage I have added below struck me as a big WOW.  The character Winston has come to possess a journal of plain paper and is "hiding" in an area of his apartment where the telescreen (which is the way Big Brother has of seeing and hearing what goes on) cannot see.  The lines are:   "The pen was an archaic instrument, seldom used even for signatures, and he had procured one, furtively and with some difficulty, simply because of a feeling that the beautiful creamy paper deserved to be written on with a real nib instead of being scratched with an ink pencil. Actually he was not used to writing by hand.  Apart from very short notes, it was usual to dictate everything into the speakwrite, which was of course impossible for his present purpose. ....To mark the paper was a decisive act.  In clumsy letters he wrote  "April 4, 1984   He sat back. A sense of complete helplessness had descended upon him.  To begin with, he did not know with any certainty that this was 1984."


Can we say Alexa?  How many times have you mentioned something to someone (not over the phone but in person) and then all of a sudden you start seeing ads for this same thing.  This kind of thing is happening NOW.  My brain immediately went to how we do not have to actually write our signatures anymore on important documents or sign our name to checks to pay for items.   How writing is not even taught in school.   How cursive writing is an art form instead of a common practice.    How history is becoming so unimportant.  How we have to decide for ourselves what is truth and how many are not able to think for themselves and determine what is truth.    Only 8 pages into the book and I have underlined several passages.   And to think this was written in 1949 by a person in a book that was considered fiction.   It boggles my brain that Orwell had this fictional story in his mind in 1949 and yet it is somewhat true today.     

I will try not to bore you with more of this but handwriting thing was just too close to astonishing!