A Moveable Feast

A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway is a collection of sketches of the author's life in Paris in the 1920s, a sort of memoir of the time and place. It can be read online. It begins,

Then there was the bad weather. It would come in one day when the fall was over. We would have to shut the windows in the night against the rain and the cold wind would strip the leaves from the trees in the Place Contrescarpe. The leaves lay sodden in the rain and the wind drove the rain against the big green autobus at the terminal and the Café des Amateurs was crowded and the windows misted over from the heat and the smoke inside. It was a sad, evilly run café where the drunkards of the quarter crowded together and I kept away from it because of the smell of dirty bodies and the sour smell of drunkenness. The men and women who frequented the Amateurs stayed drunk all of the time, or all of the time they could afford it, mostly on wine which they bought by the half-liter or liter. Many strangely named apéritifs were advertised, but few people could afford them except as a foundation to build their wine drunks on. The women drunkards were called _poivrottes_ which meant female rummies.

There are plenty of drink references throughout the book, but alas no pictures. I'll share some coffee for T Stands for Tuesday, though:

If you'd like to join me, the patio is inviting:

I got a few photos of some of the birds that come. Blue Jay:

Cardinal:

The cardinals can hold their own at the feeder, but so can the sparrows:

Carolina Wren:

The Mockingbird is the Tennessee state bird:

I wish I could get better photos, but these will just hafta do... The birds don't stay still long, and my cell phone and my inability to hold it steady enough limit what I can do.

*******

from Martin Luther on How Not to Tempt God in a Plague:

Others sin on the right hand. They are much too rash and reckless, tempting God and disregarding everything which might counteract death and the plague. They disdain the use of medicines; they do not avoid places and persons infected by the plague, but lightheartedly make sport of it and wish to prove how independent they are. They say that it is God’s punishment; if he wants to protect them he can do so without medicines or our carefulness. That is not trusting God but tempting him. . . .

No, my dear friends, that is no good. Use medicine; take potions which can help you; fumigate house, yard, and street; shun persons and places where your neighbor does not need your presence or has recovered, and act like a man who wants to help put out the burning city. What else is the epidemic but a fire which instead of consuming wood and straw devours life and body? You ought to think this way: “Very well, by God’s decree the enemy has sent us poison and deadly offal. Therefore I shall ask God mercifully to protect us. Then I shall fumigate, help purify the air, administer medicine, and take it. I shall avoid persons and places where my presence is not needed in order not to become contaminated and thus perchance infect and pollute others, and so cause their death as a result of my negligence. If God should wish to take me, he will surely find me, and I have done what he has expected of me and so I am not responsible for either my own death or the death of others.”

Give that some thought when you decide not to wear a mask.

Here's what a face mask can do:

It's not about keeping you safe but about the health of those you come into contact with. My store-bought masks have come, and I wore one of those at the grocery store yesterday. I'm glad I can retire the bandana. I felt like I was 8 years old playing cops and robbers or cowboys and Indians when I wore it. Fond memories, but I doubt it was doing much good.