[Dear Mother,]
Charles B*** asked me to co-edit an anthology of high-tech verse which he has been commissioned to do by his publisher…. I’ve thought fairly seriously about it, but am thinking of passing it up in favor of things more computer-oriented, just to economize effort. It’s tempting to be drawn into something “literary” again, but doing so is usually the equivalent of working for free, and that’s no longer attractive.
Our general health is mediocre; everyone wakes up and hawks sputum for the first hour. It seems to be a Victoria-wide phenomenon; our air is loaded with dirt and pollen, which induces chronic reactions on the part of the respiratory system, which in turn causes everyone to strangle in phlegm. Sore throat for weeks on end goes with it all. Contrary to what the Chamber of Commerce may trumpet, this is emphatically not God’s country. Several doctors have said we’re the allergy capital of the country. We had occasion to take Andrew to Bobby O*** several weeks ago; he was covering for McC***, who has a large cattle operation and was out of town selling prize bulls somewhere. I graduated from high school with O*** and remember him at least from Crain. We still don’t have a satisfactory physician. McC*** is arrogant and moody. E*** has said several times that it tires and unnerves her to be exposed to his alternations of mood.
(c) 2018 JMN.
