"I love work: I could stand and look at it for hours." A very ancient joke.
But how thrilling the great big, gigantic hole in the ground at the corner of 8th Avenue and 26th Street! With bulldozers and diggers.
Peter Lappin does quite different work entirely. He sews clothes from 1940's Butterick patterns and transforms himself into Cathy. How rarely one comes upon a snood nowadays.
Deniz scores films.
Henry is just beginning to create all sorts of things like pictures and block towers.
With us, it's same old, same old, but how much fun it is to do work you like to do, and what torture it would be to be made to work eight hours at something you hated just to get the money -- which is the fate of so many people.
A glass palatte
A hat under construction.
Re-reading Mrs Dalloway after a forty year gap. How differently it reads, and how rich it is! It is truffle and fruitcake, to be taken in very small nibbles. It is also dreadfully sad.
To worship idleness in days like these
must be accounted sin. To contemplate
in silent awe and longingly these trees
this path leaf-strewn and wet, roses late
blooming after frost --panoply of things
I may not stop for, may not understand.
Count wasted time this lingering which brings
content not cash. It isn’t what I planned.
