haven't written much here have I? I'm okay with pauses now, used to be a little anxious to get stuff done. even if it weren't that all fire wonderful. a week in Jersey, e'en as busy as was, was change of pace. as happened, in fact, last Thanksgiving when we went down there. both times, I felt a theme in my writing, partly influenced by location (seaside), partly the books I brought. plus I was able to establish a rhythm, up early to view dawn at the beach, then breakfast then coffee as I wrote. no internet, too. acquisition of pastels, plus the ever handy camera, have been my distraction lately. sunday, whee hah, I was maybe 5 miles from home when I determined that I had a flat. so I walked my phaeton home. attended a large party that evening at friends. I talked a long time with a woman who talked a long time. I mean to say, she was exceptionally ready to talk, especially politics. which was agreeable, she wasn't a god hates you type. she and her husband had recently arrived back in the country after years circumnavigating the globe in a sailboat, a logn trip in which they went everywhere. I took it that her husband had had about enough of that sort of thing, whereas she was still seeking...something. talking with one new person at such an event is usally the best I can do, but I also talked long with a man into gardening. he's an engineer and is involved with the renovation of Thoreau's birthplace. he supplied me with info I didn't know. THIS place is the house in which Thoreau was born. the house next to it used to have a sign saying as much, or so I thought. apparently the red house is the right house, and it used to be located where the other house is. I'm psyched to clear that up. saturday I rode to Walden. we used to drive over, to walk around, but it is 5 bucks, thru out the year to park. and the fencing all around, which I undeerstand, to protect the landscape from over use, natheless bothers me. in the parking lot resides a replica of Thoreau's hut. also a bronze replica of himself. I didn't manage a good photo. the statue is roughly lifesize (HDT was about 5'4" I believe), depicts him earnestly walking about. supposedly reading, but no book in his hand. so he looks like he's performing some necromancy, looking into his empty hand. OR, since he's all brown and muddy looking, looks like he's a freshly wakened zombie rising from the mud, to murder the crass and foolish townsfolk fo Concord. Revenge of the Philosoph. I read somewhere, contrary to expectations, that Thoreau's funeral was well-attended by the local children, that he was much beloved by same. one assumes that he was anti-social, but of course all thru his writing he speaks of discussions with his neighbours and strangers as well. anyway, I was super social by my terms that evening. the evening ended with fireworks. 2 children advised me on when to click pictures. I really love the results.