I packed a lunch and took it with me to the laundromat yesterday. The sun was out, and I sat with lunch and the Meacham book on Franklin and Winston while the big bed quilt went around and around. The air was filled with the sound of cell phone users. Today it wasn’t a tool of communication, instead it was a way to let off steam. I wasn’t interested.
Home to lunch and more Franklin and Winston. Then, unwilling to be cocooned in my deep chair, I pulled out a fresh piece of paper and a half dried up pen. My twenty-first century doodle doesn’t have the fresh charm that the girl on the beach does, nor does it have the compositional quality of the coffee cup on the window sill. But I doodled, and that was all that mattered.