Like old mother Hubbard my cupboard is bare. I need to go to town and it is scorching out there. I am happily in my hermit rut and would just as soon not go. I do need to fetch my poor dogs "a bone." They got the last chicken breast last night and I had the last of the tilapia. Little Nudnik, the pup, is making good progress and has tried twice to hobble home. He is still very weak and sore. Something over there tried to kill him though, and I am not done with my ministrations. He disappeared from the doghouse yesterday and I panicked. I was looking and I told Honey to find the puppy-and she did! Bless her. I am hoping he will stay but I do not think that is in the cards. He at least needs to be able to run. He can take about six steps now, and needs to rest. I put well water in the dog dishes. It is iron heavy-why I don't drink it, but I think he might need it.
I have been reading a new biography of Somerset Maugham. I tricked myself. I got him confused with Guy de Maupassant in my mind. I have read all the short stories of de Maupassant and a couple of novels. I have read a lot of Maugham too. When I saw the new biography The Secret Lives of Somerset Maugham thinking it was de Maupassant, I downloaded it. I thought it would be juicy because de Maupassant was said to be a victim of priapism- (victim?) and I wondered how one would negotiate life with a tentpole in one's trousers 24/7. But I am not disappointed. Maugham was bisexual and knew everybody in Edwardian England-the Woolf's, Rodin, Gaugin, the Impressionists, G.B.S., Wilde, the Waughs, Aleister Crowley. So it is juicy enough. Back when I was doing past life regression sessions with Dr. Leo Sprinkle I had a clear image of being snuffed out in WWI or WWII in Europe. That may explain this fascination with the era or it may be that it was a remarkable period intellectually and artistically. Our era is kind of pale in comparison.
