Greeks and gardens

Plodding along with the cow work. Broken by an occasional stretch of my legs around the garden or the park. Little to report today, other than I got a voicemail message from Bob saying among other things that he'd broken his ankle, which sounds ouchy.  Following the Greek crisis quite a bit. I hate to see the Greeks blamed for the failures of global capitalism, and being lazily portrayed as workshy tax dodgers while their pensions are being halved by the governments, and employment tumbles. I've met many decent, hardworking folks in Greece.

Lorraine, Betty and I eating salmon outside in the garden tonight, plucking a few strawberries from our strawberry pot, and then doing some watering. A garden connects you to the outside world, a world beyond the advertising concepts for cow ailments that has big skies and flowers.

In the evening persisting in my reading of John Ashbery, who whenever I've read him thought he was tripe, so imagine my disappointment when I was reading some of his poetry last thing at night and suddenly found myself liking it a great deal. It is annoying to have to overthrow your prejudices, but I find that I learn most from people's work I don't like at first. Meanwhile Lorraine reading a murder book, as there is something comforting about a good murder last thing at night.

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