Discreet, Discrete

Several hours with the dictionaries, good clean fun. Reading through a four-inch pile of offprints from B, essays on literature and language, make some notes, start a smaller pile for discussion later. Falling behind in everything but reading and writing, work on B's addition tomorrow probably, be nice to pound a few nails, though I usually become the sawyer in these situations, like hanging shows at the museum, I'm good with small numbers and fractions, have some talent with setting pace. Inanity (silliness) and inanition (lack of vigor), discreet (showing caution) and discrete (detached from others): this is the way I spend my time, parsing. Ur Text, the real, questionable enough, and then we get into faulty memory, a quicksand of recollection, but something happened, actual events, we have footprints in the sand, that became stone, that we can see. Certainly they tell us something. I remember digging in the road-cuts with my daughters, searching for anthropods. Connecting us that way. Something older than me, and I'm older than dirt.