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Walking on Ellison Street near the pond, Monk hears another would-be musician locked away in a garage blowing out some brassy bleatings - Mary had a little lamb, fleece as white as snow. That such tender ambitions are likely to amount to no more than forgettables stored away to collect dust in a closet is saddening. These working-class neighborhoods are not likely to provide the sort of support for such an ability to take root and flower, even assuming that there is some genuine ability in these kids in the first place. Some parents are giving their starry-eyed children a chance to at least begin pursuing a dream.
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This is the first time in perhaps years that a book has stirred Monk to cry. It would be a doggy's deathly illness that would do it. However, we are not quite finished with Watchers, and I am doubtful that Koontz is really going to make the end of his story that bitter. Still, he got Monk to cry, and he enjoyed the chance to vent the sadness and disappointment that he had stored inside himself, from a broken and loveless life to a mother's suicide, along with losing Princess and the doleful expectation of aged Little Bear's own death.
************
At the web page reporting the Scots study on women and height, Monk caught the headline that the author Muriel Spark died. That threw him back to his early college days at U.T.S.A.. When Monk was drowning in computer science and he turned to what he took to be serious reading, Muriel Spark was one of the authors he fixated on, reading a number of her books. Her and Charles Dickens.
************
Simple Tree left in the afternoon to drink and socialize with Jack and the gang, and Monk took the opportunity to give their one full-grown tree a big drink of water.
Our nights are cool enough that Monk is happy to find that he needs to shut off his ceiling fan in the wee hours. This coolness presumably helps to rein in the afternoon heat, but these days do get bad, and it occurs to Monk that the lack of April showers helps to account for this, not breaking down this heat, making for a hotter spring.
These cool breezes make it habitable, but they will not last forever.
xXx
Walking on Ellison Street near the pond, Monk hears another would-be musician locked away in a garage blowing out some brassy bleatings - Mary had a little lamb, fleece as white as snow. That such tender ambitions are likely to amount to no more than forgettables stored away to collect dust in a closet is saddening. These working-class neighborhoods are not likely to provide the sort of support for such an ability to take root and flower, even assuming that there is some genuine ability in these kids in the first place. Some parents are giving their starry-eyed children a chance to at least begin pursuing a dream.
************
This is the first time in perhaps years that a book has stirred Monk to cry. It would be a doggy's deathly illness that would do it. However, we are not quite finished with Watchers, and I am doubtful that Koontz is really going to make the end of his story that bitter. Still, he got Monk to cry, and he enjoyed the chance to vent the sadness and disappointment that he had stored inside himself, from a broken and loveless life to a mother's suicide, along with losing Princess and the doleful expectation of aged Little Bear's own death.
************
At the web page reporting the Scots study on women and height, Monk caught the headline that the author Muriel Spark died. That threw him back to his early college days at U.T.S.A.. When Monk was drowning in computer science and he turned to what he took to be serious reading, Muriel Spark was one of the authors he fixated on, reading a number of her books. Her and Charles Dickens.
************
Simple Tree left in the afternoon to drink and socialize with Jack and the gang, and Monk took the opportunity to give their one full-grown tree a big drink of water.
Our nights are cool enough that Monk is happy to find that he needs to shut off his ceiling fan in the wee hours. This coolness presumably helps to rein in the afternoon heat, but these days do get bad, and it occurs to Monk that the lack of April showers helps to account for this, not breaking down this heat, making for a hotter spring.
These cool breezes make it habitable, but they will not last forever.
