Doctors say that at the full moon, there is agitation in the psychiatric wards. Alas, I see that Roy's wife, Dale Evans, has died, having survived into an age of movies that by digital magic turn each screen death into the gaudiest, bloodiest horror. The news seems agitated. The surreal can be hilarious, too, of course. I challenge any of you to improve on that.
Sad news comes in on the full tide.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh, a lovely writer, the widow of Charles Lindbergh, dies in her house in Vermont. She slips off and away, having lingered some years already in the kingdom adjacent to death, the region of intermittent blankness where Ronald Reagan passes his 90th birthday. She was 94. It must be the moon. There's no reason to pair Ronald Reagan and Anne Morrow Lindbergh, except that they were born four years apart, long ago, in a different America, before the flood, and both came over with us into a new millennium, though they were enveloped in fog as we crossed the line.