¶ A fairly busy day, paying bills, standing in line at the Post Office, collecting packages at the conciergerie. I spent a lot of time sitting down, resting up. Maybe that’s why the clutter in the foyer went untouched, not even one weensy bin or bag so much as picked up off the floor.

Did I mention that the boombox DVD player turned up? No? I had been wondering where it was. It was zipped into a Bean tote bag and stashed up against the wall, beneath a desk. In my much smaller kitchen upstairs, I wedged it onto a counter corner, so that I could watch movies while drudging. Not infrequently, I would replay a DVD the moment it was over, partly because the movie was good but mostly not to break the mood. I did that three times, once, with Polanski’s The Ghost Writer. I can’t imagine such bingeing now. In fact, I can’t imagine watching a movie while cooking. Listening to music is the limit of multitasking, and if I don’t know the piece, I get distracted. 

I have to admit, age simplifies things. But what do I do with the boombox?

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