I saw Rigoletto at the LA Opera Dec. 19 with my daughter. It is a indeed a tragedy, which illustrates the limits (or lack of them) of jesting. Everyone is jesting, with ultimately deadly results.

I read that a movie is being made of A Soldier of the Great War. That is the sort of thing I look forward to with some trepidation. I always think I want to know what someone else sees something I have thoroughly enjoyed. Too often directors and producers see other aspects of the story that they prefer to explore and I found less fascinating. What I think I am going to find in the film version is not there, the author's vision having been diluted by the work of a committee, which is what a film production company is. Other things in life are like that, scented with anxious anticipation of pleasure that come to be dust in the tasting. I mistrust my anticipations these days; trepidation on every side so that I don't know where to step.

For the first winter season in some years I have had some days with lots things that could be done, but nothing that needed to be done right away. Delicious: although the sense of wasting time undercut the delight. I spent some time just wandering in imagination, only some of which could I stand to write down. Writing has come to feel like work. I pity myself for that.

The links were fun to follow, though they all tasted of bitterness. Still good and thank you.