The haps

What a bummer! I thought I was going to jury duty today, but, alas, no. Darn plea bargain.

We had Thanksgiving, late as usual, at the second born's home. We missed the third born, and, especially the youngest, and were reduced to watching parts of cable movies and petting dogs. I did see one film all the way through, but I won't embarrass myself by identifying it. (Suffice it to say, I did enjoy Captain Marvel as a child. Shazam.) A good family board game, even with the inevitable squabbles, would have been much better.

I made the trip without breaking anything, and I wish I could have continued to test my strength while doing my civic duty. I will have to be satisfied with walking about aimlessly and perplessly.

I am puzzled by the writers' strike. I have always thought of writing as a creative activity which you revise until it's right. I don't understand the concept of "overtime," and the writers' desire for the same, as applied to creativity. If a writer cannot satisfy himself or his client, he should quit. It's not an hourly wage job; it's piecework. When a true artist accepts a commission, he works as long as it takes to create his best.