I think my heart is quick and fleet and on its way to eat smelt. in These titles mean nothing.

I’ve never eaten smelt. I saw a sign for a smelt fry yesterday but wasn’t tempted to stop. Perhaps had my heart not been so fleet for a Fayze’s omelet, I would have given smelt a chance.

I’m almost to the end of my monster Auster book. 866 pages, each one with a lot of words on it. I’ve watched the author on youtube several times. He is one year younger than I am. His character in 4321 is the same age. It’s sort of a quadruple early life story of the same person with the same parents living in the same place, all having the same names and same lives basically. It reminds me of driving a car up a steep snowy hill and having to back up and start again repeatedly until you finally get to the top, or give up. The kid is a writer. The book is about writing. It’s also about Newark and New York and Paris and Princeton University and its black squirrels. Columbia University is in it. That’s where Meadow Soprano went. I think I knew someone whose niece started there because she wanted to be in movies or on tv. I wonder what happened to her.

The book is due back to the Delhi IA library on the 23rd. I plan to take it back to my library Thursday when they have their monthly book sale. I turned down an opportunity yesterday to go to Pearl Street Books on the expectation of the library’s book sale. Fayze’s had an Emerald Isle omelet. I asked the little waitress in the pink Fayze’s t=shirt what was in it and she read off the list of ingredients, stumbling a bit when she got to cabbage. It was good, big and filling, and I was hungry. Girl Scouts mothers were in the bar selling cookies - carefully explaining that there were real live Girl Scouts somewhere about. I bought thin mints and Toast-Yay which are quite taste-yay. After I open a box of Girl Scout Cookies I always wish I had waited for a special occasion. But it’s too late then. Too late now, in fact.