Dear Cyndy,

You'll find this hard to believe, but I have trouble
dredging up something worthwhile to put into a letter to you.
It's as if the inkwell of my brain had unexpectedly run dry.
This may be the case, partly, I suspect, because what I've
been doing has been less than inspiring, writing simple
computer programs to extract financial data from "screen
shots", so as to make it easier and more efficient to keep
track of various financial accounts and make sure they
haven't developed unexplained leaks.

We've had daily rain showers for most if not all of the week.
But this morning the lawn was dry and the lawn mower and I
finished trimming the grass.  Both of us are crippled, each in
his own way. The lawn mower has a fractured left rear wheel,
which explains its ridiculous wobble. I would have expected
the wheel to break off entirely long ago, but it keeps wobbling
on and I keep limping along behind it, wondering how long my
right hip will last, and what I will do (or not do) if ever
it wears out completely. I spurn using a cane. Once in a while,
as if to threaten me, my right leg "gives way", and pretends
to refuse to support me any longer at all. So far it's always
relented.  I haven't fallen.  So maybe it's just teasing me.

My writing has taken me well into the 53rd chapter of what I
once called "Die Freunde", the first 48 chapters of which I've
published in 4 volumes as "Vier Freunde" - no buyers, not a
single one. Chapter 53 would presumably become Chapter 5 of
volume 5, if it ever gets there; but right now my imagination
is limp and/or lazy and although I have a plot in mind, I am
diffident to push myself to proceed, concerned that a story
which is forced is not likely to be good. It's not that I feel
melancholy, I don't, but I do my best - or my least bad -
writing in fits when the spirit is wild and manic. While
waiting, I've started to retype (and revise) a 118 page
long account of a three weeks long trip to Germany which
Margaret, Klemens and I took in June 1984. It seems a long
time ago.

The Social Security Administration has calculated that (on
average) I have 8 more years to live, closing down shop at
age 91. I ask whether it's really necessary to wear out
ones welcome on earth. Speeding things up a bit would be
good for the national debt and would probably also be good
for me. I wonder how long my lawn mower will last. There's
a good chance it will survive me.

This evening I reviewed the docket sheet of my case,
SUCV2008-05664, and found that the last time around,
four years ago, I filed my motion to judgment on the 
pleadings on April 24, 2009, the hearing was held within
three weeks, on May 12, and Judge Macdonald ruled against
me, likety split, on May 15, 2009. This time they're
dragging their heels. I can imagine them sitting at 
conference pointing fingers at each other, Macdonald
saying to Hopkins,  "It's your turn, you do it, I shouldn't
have to deal with that bastard twice." Hopkins doesn't
want it, neither does Troy: "No, don't dump it on me, it's
your job. You made a mess of the case by sending it back
to the Plumbing Board. Macdonald, you're going to have to
learn to clean up after yourself.""O.K.,"says Macdonald,
"I'll just put it off until fall. Maybe that son-of-a-bitch
will kick the bucket. He can't go on forever..." 

If they celebrate Mother's Day in your family, well then, 
happy Mother's Day. In any even, all the best to you and Ned.

Jochen